


Last Ride: Crossroads

by combatfaerie



Series: Lass Ride [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Wrestling, rollynch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21857197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/combatfaerie/pseuds/combatfaerie
Summary: A sequel to LASS RIDE. Seth Rollins may have left WWE to join forces with The Shield and The Four Horsewomen, but Hunter doesn't give up that easily. Becky feels responsible for the strain and scrutiny that her friends are under, so when an opportunity arises to get her friends out of danger, which road will she choose?
Relationships: Becky Lynch | Rebecca Knox/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black
Series: Lass Ride [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566157
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

"Tech check," Roman announced as he entered the rental house, setting his grocery bags down on the floor. Since there were now usually eight of them travelling together at any given time—Sasha was working on a reduced schedule, but they always planned with her in mind—Roman had claimed it was easier and cheaper just to rent houses close to the events they were working, but Seth figured it was something else. Roman's nickname wasn't 'The Big Dog' for no reason: he was fiercely protective of his family and friends, and what better way to keep watch than to have them all under the same roof? "Hand them over, Rollins."

Seth had been watching football with Dean and Renee, but he heaved himself off the couch and dutifully went to grab his phone and tablet. After about three weeks of flip-phone purgatory, Roman had finally allowed him to graduate to a smartphone—a model that was a year old, of course, and with monitoring apps installed. Apparently they didn't do a good enough job in Roman's opinion, because he did random checks to make sure Seth wasn't still secretly in contact with WWE. "You're not going to find anything," he said as he handed the tech over. "I've looked up football scores and checked my e-mail. Nothing exciting."

"Especially since your Bears suck," Dean called out.

Roman was deterred. "Yeah, well, Charlotte and Sasha were both pretty sure they saw Randy Orton at our last event, so someone's clearly still leaking our schedule to WWE."

Renee turned around to peek over the back of the couch. "WWE also hasn't done anything about Seth violating the no-compete clause," she pointed out, "which is super weird, because normally the legal team will pounce on a wayward comma, let alone a big infraction like this. Plus they'd usually take any chance they can get to shut down some of these smaller promotions before they have an opportunity to gain any momentum."

Seth spread his arms wide. He knew it would take some work—make that _a lot of work_ —to even get to a good place with The Shield and the Four Horsewomen, and he was willing to put in the work, but it was starting to get annoying. He had already moved most of his personal belongings to a rented house near Roman's and had arranged for a friend to housesit at his place for a few months while things calmed down. He took whatever matches he was given at the events, which usually involved jobbing to Roman. He endured the tech checks, the general lack of privacy, the constant wary looks—all so he could prove himself. In theory, he was trying to prove himself to Roman and the others, but Seth was really doing it more for Becky and, in a strange way, himself. The more he thought about what he had done—what he had been willing to do—for The Authority, the more ashamed he felt. Those weren't the actions of the type of person he wanted to be, and he was doing his best to move in the direction of something better. The constant scrutiny made it difficult, however.

Then he saw Becky come in, Bayley just behind her, and some of the bitterness turned sweet. She hadn't fully forgiven him either, not by a long shot, but they were at least talking. It felt weird to be going in relationship reverse, starting out with frantic sex and working up to casual conversations, but he hoped he might be able to enjoy the best of both worlds at some point. It wasn't likely to happen as long as he was sharing a roof with Roman, though. "What's going on?" Becky asked, noticing that all the bags Roman had been carrying were on the floor. Then she saw him swiping his finger across a phone screen. "Ro, come on. We just got home. Can't that wait until we've unpacked everything?" They didn't usually buy a lot of groceries, but since they had three upcoming events within a drivable radius, Roman had thought it would be nice to have a home base for a few days. 

"Then he would have time to delete whatever he didn't want me to see," Roman pointed out. Seth thought Becky's reprimand might have got to Roman, though, because he gave the phone a few more swipes before handing it back. "Looks clean so far," he said grudgingly.

"Damn. The mail order bride application wasn't still on there?" Dean reached for his beer. "That's too bad. I picked you out a good one too. _Olga_. With a name like that, you know she's going to be strong as hell." Renee must have smacked him, because he added, "What? Don't friends set each other up on dates? Is that not a thing anymore?"

Roman gave the tablet a cursory look before giving that back as well. "It's good," he said simply, then turned to grab his bags. Seth made no move to help; it wouldn't have earned him much good will, and he was more inclined to help Becky or Bayley anyway. "Got all the fixings for pizzas," he announced on his way into the kitchen, "so everyone fends for themselves tonight."

"Except Dean," Renee announced, ruffling his hair as she stood, "because when it comes to the kitchen, he's a danger to himself and others."

"Sure. When other people cook with fire, it's all fancy and _flambé_. If _I_ try to do it, it's practically arson." Then Dean glanced up at Seth. "You gonna finish watching the game?"

Seth shook his head, tucking his phone in his pocket. "Nah, I'm good. It's an I-hate-football kind of day." He started heading back to his assigned room—as far from Becky's as possible, of course, by Roman's decree—to put back his tablet when he heard some footsteps echoing his own. He expected to find Roman shadowing him, so it was a pleasant surprise when he turned and saw Becky instead. "Hey."

"Hey." Becky leaned against the wall and pointed back down the hallway. "Sorry about that. I keep telling him it's not necessary, but. . . ."

"It's okay. I'm the one who fucked up, and I'm the one who needs to make amends and prove myself." Seth tilted his tablet back and forth in his hands. "I still think you and Charlotte are the ones who are the ones who should be doling out the punishments, though." He wasn't sure where Roman was, so he quickly added, "In a completely non-sexual way, of course."

Becky's lips twitched. "Of course. Though I think you're underestimating Charlotte. I've been on her bad side before; it's not a fun place." She motioned again to the kitchen, now alive and buzzing with voices and scents. "I'm going to get in there before all the stuff I picked is gone. Anything you'd like?"

Seth shook his head. "Nah, I'm easy. I'll be good with whatever's left. Are Charlotte and Sasha going to be back for supper?" Right after Charlotte had visited her ailing father, she and Becky had grown close again, but now she seemed to be seeking solace in Sasha. All Charlotte's attempts to gain medical updates had been blocked by WWE, since Ric's wife had given Hunter legal permission to oversee the hospital details.

"I don't think so." Becky frowned a bit. "Think they're having a girls' day. Spa, nails, all that." When she heard Bayley's laugh, she sighed. "They could have at least invited her. I know I'm not the best company these days, but they don't have to exclude Bayley because of me."

"I think you're good company," Seth replied automatically. He might have been keeping his distance from Becky—though definitely not by choice—but he still hated to see her upset. 

Becky's gaze dropped to the floor. "Seth, I . . . appreciate the sentiment. But Roman's still in super protective mode, so it's probably best if we don't start anything up again for a while. I know you keep saying that who you were when you were with The Authority wasn't really you. Well, I'm not the type to randomly hook up with someone I met in a bar either. So I have some of my own shit to wade through."

Part of Seth wanted to correct her: they might have first seen each other in a bar, but their first interaction had been at an arena backstage. He didn't think she would appreciate the interjection, however, so he stayed quiet. There were so many times when he wanted to speak up or protest, but he had never really considered going back to WWE. It wasn't just that he had burned all the bridges he had there; he also couldn't see a way where he could be there and not revert to the cruel princeling he had been turning into.

"If . . . if you want to leave," Becky continued, voice muted, "I understand. I won't hold you to your promise. I know you could be main-eventing any of these events if Roman weren't running interference. But I don't know how long it'll take before I'm going to be able to trust you again."

As gentle as her tone had been, as fair as her judgement had been, it still hurt like hell to hear. After Seth had vandalized The Authority's garage, she had gone over to him—not the other way around—and he had thought there was still some hope. Someone must have counseled her to take it slow, and for once Seth didn't think Roman was to blame. It was more likely to be one of the Four Horsewomen, looking out for their sister and trying to make sure she didn't get her heart broken all over again. "I know." It was the easiest thing to say and it was true. He could have said _I get it_ , but he would never truly know what it felt like from her perspective; some tiny, bitter part of him also refused to think he deserved the pariah treatment he was getting. In almost all other ways, though, the other seven treated him well: they ate together, rode together, hung out together. Though most of Seth's matches included losing to Roman, it wasn't as if he didn't get to showcase his skills during the bout. Things could be much, much worse.

They could also be better, and he knew Becky was the key to that. Even if she never wanted anything beyond friendship with him again, Seth wanted to make amends. On some level, Becky seemed to want that too, or else she wouldn’t have even been trying. _Before I'm going to be able to trust you_ , Seth repeated to himself, _not IF_. It was an important distinction.

Becky drummed her hands on her thighs, more to focus herself than anything."Right. Pizza. Kitchen. Don't wait too long," she advised, "or there won't be anything left." With an awkward nod, she headed back down the hallway.

Seth didn't move until she was out of sight, and even then he just dropped the tablet on the bed. The rental house was so casually comfortable that it reminded him of some of his childhood homes, and it almost felt too intimate to be staying there. _Maybe that's why Roman does it,_ he thought, flopping back on the bed. _He figures I won't try making out with Becky in some stranger's room._ If that was the case, Roman was wrong in a lot of ways. Seth would happily make out with Becky wherever she would have him, but he had resolved not to push her.

He waited a few more minutes until the cacophony in the kitchen started to settle and then Seth headed in. Three medium-sized pizzas were already in the oven, and one remained on the counter, waiting its turn. At least Seth thought it was a pizza. It looked more like someone had tossed a bit of everything available on top of a pre-made crust. _Dean's,_ Seth thought, chuckling softly. Then he noticed that the remaining crust was already sitting in a pizza pan, the fixings set out in a tidy row. _And that would be Becky._ Dean would have switched labels on everything and Roman probably would have put everything away in the fridge, claiming he didn't want it to go bad. Renee didn't know him well enough either way to have a strong opinion, but in some ways Seth thought that almost made her an ally; by no means did she agree with what he had done, but she could also see it through the lens of a recent WWE employee. 

"Thanks for leaving everything out," Seth said as he entered the living room after preparing his pizza and putting the leftover fixings in the fridge. 

Dean had changed it from football to, of all things, a British-based baking show, and he actually seemed enthralled by watching how the bakers measured their ingredients. "They don't use cups or shit!" he exclaimed. "They just pour it into the bowl!"

"Babe, the bowl's on a scale. See?" Renee pointed to the screen. "They go by weight."

"Do the British have to do _everything_ differently?" Dean shook his head and leaned back against the couch. "This is weird sorcery shit, I tell you."

"Try living across from them," Becky replied dryly. "They're shitty neighbours."

Renee grinned and leaned over to give Becky a high five. "That's what Canada said!"

Roman glanced up from his phone. "Did you just turn a your-mama joke into something about international relations?" Then he shook his head. "No, I don't want to know. But Sasha just texted me. They're on their way back, but she said they're going to take a twisty way. They thought they saw someone watching them at the spa."

"Randy, I bet." Dean nodded sagely. "I always figured that fucker had to get his thighs waxed."

"No." It was just a single word, but it was enough to make them all sober up. "They thought they saw Hunter."


	2. Chapter 2

Having Randy Orton on your tail was bad enough. He hadn't picked a nickname like The Viper just because it looked good on a t-shirt, and he was noted for his relentless nature. When Seth had tried to ask the Four Horsewomen about their interactions with Randy, they were all resolutely silent. Of everything they wanted to leave behind at WWE, he had apparently been high on the list. Hunter had been even higher, so if Charlotte and Sasha were right, things had gone from _bad_ , sped past _worse_ , and were veering towards _deadly_. 

Once Charlotte and Sasha had arrived at the rental house, Roman told everyone to park their bikes in the attached garage. It was a tight fit, but they managed; with so many people to transport, Seth often wondered if they should have just caved and got a van, but they all seemed to love cruising on their bikes. Bayley had confided that she had never been on a motorcycle before joining WWE, and now she wouldn't be without one.

Now they were all clustered together in the living room, the television off, the first batch of pizzas already devoured and the second ones were almost finished. "I'm sure it was him, Roman. That nose is pretty distinctive, you know? And there aren't exactly a ton of guys with his build," Sasha pointed out. She had dyed her hair a deep pink, but somehow it made her look sharper rather than softer.

Charlotte nodded in agreement. "It was him. I was just coming out of the bathroom by the front desk and I didn't catch any distinct words, but I know that tone. I remember Dad bringing him around in the Evolution days." With a slight wrinkling of her nose, she added, "I think he was kind of trying to get us together."

Bayley's face scrunched up in a mixture of disgust and confusion. "But Hunter's like . . . almost twenty years older than you! He could be your dad!"

Sasha just raised an eyebrow. "You think that matters to guys like Ric? Hell, Jerry Lawler's dated women younger than his own damn kids."

Roman waved his hands. "Back on topic, y'all. If this has escalated from Randy to Hunter, that's not good." Meeting Charlotte's gaze, he added, "I'm guessing it can't just be about your dad's condition. He wouldn't try tracking you down at a spa."

"Plus Ric's famous. If something really happened," Dean pointed out, "it'd be in the news, or someone would mention it at one of the events." Renee gave him a gentle nudge, flicking her gaze in Charlotte's direction. "Oh. Sorry, Char. I didn't mean anything by it."

Charlotte had tensed up the whole time Dean was talking, but she nodded slowly. "You're right. If . . . if my dad did pass away, it would hit the news eventually. Even if WWE is trying to keep his medical status under wraps, someone in the hospital would cave and sell the story. That's just how people are."

Seth tried to imagine what it would be like to find out that a relative had died through news media, not a call from the hospital or another family member. Still, even that prospect didn't seem to be enough to make Charlotte go back. _Hunter really underestimated these girls,_ Seth thought, and not without pride. He was still on shaky terms with Becky and he didn't know the others well enough to consider them friends, but his respect for them all grew by the day. Wrestling was a hard business even for the top guys; he imagined it was a hundred times more difficult for women. "Could you ask anyone in your family to send you updates quietly?" he suggested. He wasn't sure what Charlotte's situation was like with the rest of the Flair family, but he doubted Hunter could sway all of them.

"My stepmother will do whatever Dad says is best, so she'll trust Hunter." Charlotte dropped her gaze. "And after Reid . . . well, my siblings won't want to rock the boat. I can try reaching out to some cousins, but I don't want to make things awkward for them. I chose this." She motioned at their small cluster, and Seth found himself strangely happy to be included in the sweep of her arm. "I chose it knowing what I would be giving up at the same time. If I can find out some updates on my dad without jeopardizing anything, I will, but if not. . . ." She squared her shoulders, looking every inch the queen. "Then at least I got to see him that one last time."

Becky reached over and squeezed Charlotte's hand. "That decision is all yours, Char. If you ever want to go back. . . ." She left the rest unsaid, and the four women met each other's gazes and nodded. The Shield might have had their matching gear and fist bumps, but the bond between the Four Horsewomen was just as strong.

"So what do we do about Hunter?" Renee asked. "I can ask around the podcaster circuit, and I left on decent terms with some people at WWE. I wouldn't ask them to put themselves at risk, but they might be able to pass along some information here and there."

"That would be a start," Roman replied, standing up so he could pace around. A lot of big wrestlers were quite happy to have their down time, but Roman seemed to thrive on movement. "I mean, he's got as much right to be at an arena or a spa or wherever as we do. The only one he has any legal rights to is Seth." He glanced over at him and rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, Rollins," he added, voice wry. "We're not going to throw you to the lions. I'm just saying he could legally come after you for not abiding by the terms of your contract."

"And probably trespassing and destruction of property," Dean piped up. When Roman shot him a warning look, he held up his hands. "What? I'm just making sure his rap sheet is accurate."

Becky glanced out the window, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. "We have renter's insurance on this place, right? I know Char and Sasha said they weren't followed, but if Hunter tried anything here. . . ."

"Yeah, it's covered." The extra worry made Roman's eyes darken. "We don't really have any legal recourse, because so far he hasn't threatened us. But if any of us are out and you see anyone from WWE, send a group text to alert everyone else."

"Should we try to lead them away?" Once upon a time, Seth would have thought Bayley would be the first to cower, but her fighting spirit was inspiring. "If one of us is out and we see Hunter or Randy, we could try to divert them. . . ."

Roman shook his head. "Then that would leave you—or whoever it was—alone, which isn't great either. In that scenario, I'd trust Hunter more than Randy. Randy will fuck you up in public; Hunter has an image to maintain. To most of the non-wrestling world, he looks like a guy who married his way up the corporate ladder. He can't afford to look like a thug."

Quietly, Becky rose from her chair and started gathering the empty plates and crumpled paper napkins from around the room, stepping over people's feet as she navigated the narrow space between the couch and the coffee table. When she reached for Seth's, he shook his head. "Let me help." He almost looked to Roman for permission, but stopped himself.

"All of this is my fault," Becky said as soon as they were in the kitchen. It was an older-style house, similar to what Seth's mother and aunts and uncles had lived in when he was a kid, so it didn't have a modern, open-plan layout. The kitchen and living room were separated by a clearly unused dining room, which gave them a small buffer of privacy. 

Seth wasn't sure he heard her correctly at first. "Your fault? How do you figure that? You didn't do anything wrong in any of this." As soon as he said it, he hoped she wouldn't shoot him a pointed look that said _You were wrong, and doing you started all of this_.

"Because." Becky dumped all the napkins in the trash before arranging the dishes in piles to be washed. "Because I asked you to come with me—"

"I told you to— _asked_ you to," Seth amended, working the few leftover slices of pizza off their respective pans and onto the cooling rack so the pans could be washed with the rest of the dishes.

"Doesn't mean I had to. I asked you to come with me," Becky repeated, "and when you offered to do anything to prove yourself, I didn't stop you, so you went and vandalized the garage, and that just made Hunter mad. He would have given up on Charlotte and the Four Horsewomen eventually. He might have even let _you_ go without too much fuss. But you messed with his bikes and his pride, and now he won't be able to let it go. And Randy's pissed too, so we have to deal with both of them." She gripped the edges of the sink and huffed out a breath. "I was so fucking stupid. I fucked things up for everyone."

Seth started to reach for her, ready to wrap his arms around her waist and try to comfort her, but he stopped. Even if she accepted the gesture, with his luck Roman would walk in and go ballistic. "You didn't do anything wrong." He couldn't remember how many times he had tried to reassure her of that, but it never seemed to sink in. "It's just . . . Hunter and Randy don't know when to let go." It was one of the few things he had in common with them. Of course, in his Authority days, they called it _tenacity_ or _drive_ ; words like _obsession_ were frowned upon.

Becky picked a wayward chunk of pineapple off one of the now-empty pans and popped it in her mouth. "We didn't help matters, though," she pointed out. "We gave them something to hang on to. If we'd just . . . gone—even if you had left your bikes and the note—they might not have cared. Or maybe they'd blacklist us to the point where no promotion in the States would take us, but that's not the end of the world. There's Great Britain, Europe, Japan. . . ."

"Becky." Seth came as close as he dared, not quite touching, but near enough that his warmth made her skin prickle. "There's more to this than vandalized bikes and a fuck-you note. Hunter has too much to lose to flip out over that. He can afford to replace the bikes and get the garage cleaned discreetly; no one would ever have to know it happened. So there has to be something else going on, and it's not just about Ric Flair."

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about false assurances from you," Becky replied, reaching for the sink taps. "Wash or dry?" 

The house wasn't equipped with a dishwasher, which made the rent cheaper. Since there were eight of them, it wasn't as if they didn't have enough hands to do the work, and Seth even found some of the menial chores soothing. Living out of hotel rooms night after night could feel so empty and impersonal after a while. "Dry," he said at last, looking for the towels. The worst Becky could do as the washer was splash him. If she had the towel, he wasn't quite so sure.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't a unanimous decision, but the group ultimately decided to stay in the same rental for the duration of the three events. Bayley and Seth had been outvoted, and neither Charlotte nor Roman felt that Hunter would be so brazen as to attack them in public. "We all have houses, you know," Seth had protested. "What if he goes to those?"

Roman stared him down. "Hunter doesn't know where I live anymore. Same goes for the Horsewomen. He would have your address on file and Renee's, maybe Dean's by association, but I really don't think Vince would want the publicity of potentially damaging a neighbourhood and harming innocent bystanders. There are some things you just can't spin into a story."

It made everyone hyper vigilant at the next event, though, and even Roman caved, renting a large passenger van for them to take. They all missed the freedom of their bikes, both in terms of the open air and the autonomy, but they knew some things had to be sacrificed for comfort. "Safety in numbers, right?" Charlotte said as she hopped out at the arena. "That's what got us this far." Then she pierced Seth with a cold glare. "Well, most of us."

As Becky walked past them both, she could feel Seth's gaze on her, as if expecting her to come to his defence. She usually did, if only because she couldn't stand all the simmering animosity, but she just didn't have it in her today. Even Roman looked surprised at that, so she sped up and walked past them all, heading straight for the women's locker room. This independent league didn't have many full-time female wrestlers at all, so they were happy to make accommodations for the Four Horsewomen. It also meant the few women who were there were beyond delighted to see them. " _Oh. My. God!_ BECKY!" a young woman with bright green braids exclaimed, nearly tripping over her own boots.

"Look at her butt?" Becky quipped weakly. The song probably pre-dated the woman, though, and Becky wasn't surprised when she didn't get the reference. "Hi. Charlotte and Sasha and Bayley are on their way," she promised. She knew the Four Horsewomen were a package deal these days, and she wasn't the one most people got excited about seeing.

But this time the woman came up and clasped her hands. "I don't care! I mean, I do; they're great. But I'm such a fan. My older sister wrestled a few matches against you up in Canada and she was always saying how amazing you were." Then she pointed awkwardly at her bag. "I know you're probably so sick of taking selfies since leaving WWE, but would you mind? My sister will never believe me otherwise."

"Sure. No prob." Becky happily posed with the woman and struck up a conversation about her sister. By the time the other Horsewomen arrived, she had learned the other woman's name—Ariel, ring name Siren—and about her family, her pets, and her dream to reach WWE. "You'll be wanting to talk to these ladies about that too," Becky said, pointing to her friends. "We all had really different paths, so it's good to know there's not just one way."

"Thank you so much, Becky!" Ariel gushed, dashing over to greet Charlotte, Sasha, and Bayley in turn. Other local female wrestlers shuffled in and out, chatting and getting their pictures taken with the Horsewomen, and Becky had to quietly sneak out to get some water. 

The promotion didn't have a Catering area so much as a cluster of tables, one with plastic-wrapped cases of bottled water and the others with an assortment of fruit, pastries, and prepared sandwiches that looked like they were bought at a warehouse store in bulk. After snagging a bottle of water and some fruit, she started to wander around. It was a small venue—not quite a bingo ball, but definitely not a full-fledged arena—but she wanted to get a sense of the exits and hiding places. Most of the corridors were cluttered with the things that had been moved out of the exhibition space to make room for the ring and the seating: hockey sideboards, basketball hoops, a rickety-looking dais. 

Down one of the further corridors—close to the exits so the bosses could make a quick getaway, she guessed—were the executive offices. He was at the other end, so Becky wasn't entirely sure, but she thought she recognized one of the men talking. Aaron had run promotions on and off for the better part of twenty years, both in North America and Europe. He always billed himself as an alternative to the big guys, but had no qualms about copying the big guys' concepts that worked. Being quite tall, he normally tried to use his height to intimidate anyone he was speaking with, but this time the other party was just as tall and definitely more broad and—

And it was _Hunter_. If she didn't recognize his very distinctive nose and dominant posture, his voice would have sealed the deal. Becky tried to backpedal as quickly as she could, but her hair was a dead giveaway. "Becky?" he called out. Her mind must have been playing tricks on her, because he sounded more relieved than accusatory. It didn't make her slow down, though, not until she got back to the women's locker room.

"Everything okay, Becks?" Bayley asked. She was positively glowing. Like Becky, she didn't tend to get as much attention as Charlotte or Sasha, so she appreciated the compliments that much more when they did come her way.

'Yeah. I just . . . needed to clear my head." Becky took a long gulp of water before she could curse herself. She knew she should tell Bayley that Hunter was there and then go warn the guys, but her feet stayed rooted to the floor. _Wait,_ her inner voice advised. _See how it plays out. Hunter isn't dumb. He won't do anything risky out in the open._

Maybe not, but there were plenty of doors to close in this venue, plenty of rooms to hide in. And rather than bringing their bikes, creating multiple targets that could scatter on a whim, they had arrived en masse. "Char, Bayley, and I are going against their little girl gang," Sasha reported, just a hint of sheepishness creeping into her voice. "That green-haired girl—Ariel? Arianne?—said you had wrestled her sister back in the day, so the promoter wanted to work with that angle. That's the only reason you're not with us."

Becky nodded absently. "Sure. Sounds good. I'll go find her and hash it out." Did the others not trust her to carry her weight? She couldn't dwell on that; Ariel was young and still a bit rough around the edges, so it would be Becky's responsibility to help guide her through the match. Having something to focus on after seeing Hunter could only be a good thing.

If possible, Ariel greeted her with even more enthusiasm the second time around. "This is so amazing! Aurora—my sister? Our parents are Disney freaks—is going to be so stoked! Aaron doesn't normally allow us to take personal video, but he said he'd record our match so I can show it to her. This means so much to me! You can't even know!"

Becky didn't have to force herself to smile; Ariel's energy was infectious. "Then let's get talking about how you're going to show off to your sister." Whenever the Four Horsewomen or The Shield were at a smaller event like this, they almost always won, but they always tried to help put their opponents over too. Becky would be scheduled to beat Ariel, but she would make sure the girl looked good in the process so she could show the video to her sister with pride.

Some of Becky's star power must have rubbed off on Ariel, because Aaron even let her have a brief promo setting up the match, talking about how her sister's career had inspired her to go into wrestling, segueing into how she had heard that Becky Lynch was around and she wanted to redeem the family honour in her sister's name. Ariel was a bit stiff at first, but Becky called spots to her quietly and soon the audience was starting its own chants. When Becky finally got the pin, she almost felt bad for winning, and she made sure she helped Ariel up, shook her hand, and then rolled out of the ring so the younger woman could bask in her moment.

The invigorating match and Ariel's warm enthusiasm had made her almost completely forget about seeing Hunter earlier, so when she noticed someone waiting in the wings after she emerged from the locker room, she assumed it was Roman. _Probably going to reprimand me for going off on my own,_ she thought. She understood his worries, but sometimes his big-brother routine could get cloying. 

It was Hunter who peeled away from the shadows, approaching her slowly with his hands open at his sides. "I'm not here to raise shit," he said flatly. "I'd just like to talk, if you're open to that."

Becky went still. She had left her bag in the locker room since the other tHorsewomen hadn't wrestled yet; she only had her phone with her. The nagging sense of blame was getting to her, though, and if she could defuse things with a simple discussion, that would be the best she could hope for. "Shouldn't you be talking to Seth?" she asked, not committing to an answer yet.

Hunter's head bobbed back and forth. "I want to do that too, eventually, but I'm guessing he's not in the best mindset right now." Then he pointed down a hallway behind him to an external exit. "I don't trust Roman to stay level-headed and I'm not sure Dean's capable of having a serious conversation without making some dumb-ass remark. I want to talk to you to explain some things you might have heard and seen."

"You mean like the messages Randy sent to Seth?" They still stung a bit, she had to admit, and she had to bite her tongue when Roman copied them to his own phone to preserve as evidence. 

Hunter grimaced a bit. "Among other things, yes." He gestured to the door again. "Ironically, I think outside might allow more privacy."

Becky was about to point out that it also gave him the advantage of isolating her from her friends, but then she heard her name again, and there was no doubting that voice. "Becky! Good match," Roman called out. Hunter quickly disappeared around the corner and when Becky glanced down the corridor, she saw him duck into a recessed doorway. "Dean and Seth and I got some seats to watch the girls' six-woman tag match. Aren't you coming?"

She scrambled to think of an excuse. "I need to call home. I noticed a message on my phone when I was changing, and it's from my dad. His health hasn't been great lately, so. . . ."

Roman held up his hands. "Say no more. I'll let everyone know. I hope it's good news. Dean and I are tagging against Seth and a local after the girls are done, so we'll text you when we're ready to go, okay?"

"Sounds good." Becky waved and waited until Roman was out of sight to slip down the corridor, peering around the doorway where Hunter had taken refuge. "Make it quick," she said under her breath. "I don't like lying to them."

"That's because you're a good person at heart, Lynch," Hunter replied, falling into step beside her. "That's not always an asset in this business."

The shift in name hadn't escaped her. Since her real name was Rebecca, it would be hard to go after her legally for using _Becky_ ; the _Lynch_ , though, had been a WWE creation, and everyone in The Shield and the Four Horsewomen had been surprised when WWE hadn't cracked down on them for using their WWE names. "Not everything is about business," Becky countered. "Sometimes it's about being decent." As they neared the exit, she noticed a silhouette by the door and she stopped in her tracks. "You never said you weren't alone."

"Since when have you ever known a king to travel without an entourage?" Randy Orton pushed himself off from the wall, but didn't come any closer.

Hunter watched Becky's expression carefully. "If you don't want him listening in," he offered, "he can wait somewhere else." Randy reared back at that, narrowing his eyes, but Hunter didn't seem fazed in the least.

Becky shook her head. "I'd rather keep him where I can see him," she said flatly. For a moment, she thought about pushing the issue. Would Hunter make him take his hands out of his pocket if Becky said that made her feel more comfortable? Would he tell Randy to go fetch them something to eat? In the end, she had them step out of the building first, setting a doorstop brick between the door and the frame to keep it from shutting. It was clearly a favourite haunt of employees who smoked, because there was a makeshift ashtray on an old, overturned crate and cigarette butts littered the asphalt. "So what exactly do you want to talk about?"

Hunter held Randy's insolent gaze for a moment before turning to Becky. "If Randy apologized," he said simply, "would it help?"

"No. I don't need empty words." Becky kept her voice as flat as possible, wrapping her arms around herself. The night wasn't too cold yet, but with the sun setting, it wouldn't take long for a chill to set in and she hadn't thought to bring her coat. "Just . . . talk. Say what you came to say. I'm tired of all this drama." She bit the inside of her lip to keep from swearing. She hadn't wanted to give too much away, and now she had just shown him a weakness in her armour. 

"To the point. I've always respected that about you." Hunter leaned against a traffic barrier and motioned for Randy to stand on his other side, within Becky's sightline but less of a distraction. "You know what else I respect? You want to go your own way. You saw how some girls got launched after they got breast implants, and you always refused."

Becky bristled a bit, remembering Randy's texts. "I seem to remember that offer coming from you and Steph," she said coldly, "so you couldn't have been too opposed."

Hunter shrugged. "It's business. I have to make a lot of suggestions and offers I don't necessarily agree with. But as I was saying, you want to go your own way, carve your own path. You saw blonde after blonde jump the line before you. Hell, even Summer Rae was getting opportunities while you sat in Catering. But did you go dye your hair blonde? No. You went red."

"It's as much an Irish stereotype as that ridiculous Riverdance gimmick I had." Becky didn't want to give him an inch, but she had to admit he had a point. There had been so many times where she could have just conformed to what Vince had wanted and she probably would have had a championship in a matter of weeks.

"That's not why you did it, though. You could have done some crazy colour like Sasha: purple or pink or blue or whatever rainbow she's using this week. But you went red. Red is a warning," Hunter declared. "Red is _stop_. Red is anger and fire and all the things you are." Then he motioned up at the building. "Becky, you're too good for this. You're too good for the indie circuit and guest-star matches and wandering around from promotion to promotion. You know that will eventually dry up. Sooner or later, Vince will buy them out, or the cachet of being former a WWE star will wear off. Think of all the people who have left WWE. How many can you name?" To his credit, he actually gave her a few seconds to answer. "Not many. And do you know why? Because we treat our talent well, first and foremost, but also because when people leave, they generally fade away." A knowing smile twisted his lips. "And you and I both know you are not the type of wrestler—not the type of _woman_ —who is content to vanish into obscurity and become a trivia note. WWE is the only place where you can accomplish what you want."

"You're pissed off," Becky replied bluntly. "Steph must be too. If you were smart, you've kept the worst of it from Vince, but if you haven't, he'll be steaming. There's no way _any_ of us can come back with impunity except maybe Charlotte." Then she relented a bit. "Maybe there was another way we could have dealt with things, but that time has passed."

"Nothing's eternal, Becky. Nothing's immutable. And Vince doesn't have as much sway as you think." Hunter held out his hands palms up. "Tell me what you want, and I'll tell you if I can make it happen."

"Trips. . . ." Randy's brow furrowed and he stepped forward, but Hunter held him back with an arm. "Why would you even negotiate with them after what they did?"

"What _Seth_ did," Hunter corrected, stepping a bit closer to Becky. When she didn't flinch, he moved closer yet. "We have video footage. We know it was him, and we know he was alone. We also have enough evidence that we could easily press charges, not to mention he's in violation of his contract." That last bit could have been mere information or a threat or both.

It was risky, she knew, but Becky let herself smirk. "And what if I said it was my idea? What if I said Seth felt bad and he asked mewhat he could do to make amends and I told him to trash all your beloved bikes?" Her phone pinged two or three times, but she ignored it.

Hunter didn't even flinch. "You were upset. I can understand that. But there's a difference between _telling_ someone to do something and _forcing_ them. Did you threaten him? I doubt it. So Seth still decided to do it." He let the obvious parallel—that Seth didn't have to mislead her, but still chose to—linger unsaid. Becky expected Randy to smirk or make some smart-ass comment, but he stayed as still as a statue.

"Still my idea, though, so why would you ever take me back? Why would you trust me again?" The questions hit a bit close to home, so Becky pressed on. Her phone kept chiming and she glanced at it quickly. Messages from Charlotte, Bayley, Renee and, most recently, Roman. _Shit. Time to wrap this up._ Her phone was still pinging as she tucked it into her pocket, and then it started to ring. She swore softly when she recognized Roman's tone. "I have to go," she said simply, reaching for the door. 

"Becky, wait." Hunter grabbed the door before she could slip inside. "I mean it. Every word. This isn't about Ric anymore. We know Charlotte visited him, so he got to say his piece. This is about WWE and building a women's division that you would be proud of. One that a young Rebecca Quin could have watched and felt like it had a place for her in it."

_Fuck you_. Even in her head it was only a whisper. Hunter wasn't called the Cerebral Assassin for nothing. He knew exactly where to target, either for maximum pain or maximum effect; the dossiers Seth had proved that. "I'll talk to you again," Becky allowed hesitantly, "if you give me something with no strings attached."

Hunter bowed his head. "Name it and I'll tell you if it's feasible."

"Give me a full update on Ric, and let Charlotte have unfettered access at the hospital. No hidden cameras or recording devices or any of that shit," Becky added. "Family goes beyond the business, I'm sure you can agree."

"I can do that. Right now, I can tell you he's improved a bit, but I don't have my work phone with me, and that has all his records." With a little chuckle, he added, "As you can probably imagine, I don't exactly want Vince or Steph knowing where I am right now. I'm trying to clean this up before it reaches a McMahon." Then he pointed to her phone. "I'll give you a number. Call or text me tomorrow and I'll give you everything I have. Then we can arrange a chat. Preferably in a place where you don't look like you're going to freeze."

Becky resisted the urge to rub some warmth back into her arms. How was she going to explain that to Roman and the others? They knew she hated the cold; she never would have gone outside just to make a call home. "Okay. Give me the number. I'd ask you not to trace mine," she added, glaring over at Randy for no particular reason; she just needed to let out some spite and he was the nearest and most satisfying target. "But you've obviously got connections at most of the events we've been working."

Hunter's smile was a second crescent moon against the darkening sky. "How do you think we snap up talent such as yourself before the other guys do? In case you were curious, most of them say you and Bayley are the best workers—not that I'm surprised." Then he motioned at her phone. "Ready?"

After turning the volume down so she could concentrate, Becky nodded. "Go ahead."

The series of numbers Hunter rattled off seemed legitimate, but she could look it up later. "For secrecy's sake, I'm going to refer to you as Tracey, okay? I'll use it in any messages to make them look legitimate."

Becky guessed it was a nod to one of her trainers—nothing so obvious as a blatantly Irish name, but something that Hunter would remember. _He's The Game,_ she told herself. _Don't ever forget it._ She didn't think she would be able to outwit him on her own, but she hoped she could at least not make things worse. After she entered the number, she turned the screen to show him the entry. "Good?"

Hunter nodded. "List me as Michael for now." Then he motioned to Randy, who seemed relieved that his self-imposed silence would soon come to an end. "We'll talk soon."

Becky watched until both men got into an understated but expensive car and drove off. "That's not ominous at all," she muttered, kicking the brick free and ducking back inside. As she walked back down the long corridor, she turned the volume back up on her phone and answered the next call that came in. "Hey, Dean. Sorry I didn't pick up before. Hope I didn't worry anyone." She couldn't think of a feasible excuse to offer, so she thought it was better not to stumble through one and risk blurting out the truth.

"Holy fuck, Irish. Roman was about to freak out. He thought he saw Randy lurking around," Dean added, sounding almost panicked himself. For Dean to sound anything but sardonic was rare. "We were texting and calling to warn you, and since you weren't answering. . . ." He let the sentence dangle. It was the perfect opportunity—the expected place, really—for her to reply with why she hadn't replied, but he left it more as a placeholder. For all Dean's foibles, he wasn't pushy; he respected other people's space, if only because he so valued his own.

"Sorry, sorry." Becky started to jog, hoping it would help warm her up _and_ get her to wherever they were faster. "I just need to get my bag from the locker room and I'm good to go."

"No need," Dean replied. "We've got it." For a frantic moment, Becky thought that he was going to say they were already at the van—that they had seen her outside talking to two people. "We're all in Catering. Did you have any of those croissants? Holy fuck, Irish! I mean, I know they're French—" At that, Becky could hear an indignant squawk from Renee in the background. "But they're transcendent. When butter is made, it dreams of being in those croissants, I tell you."

Becky breathed a sigh of relief. Leave it to Dean to focus on some random food. "If there's any left, save me one," she said. "I'm on my way." The winding trek to Catering was thankfully long enough that she was able to warm up a bit by the time she arrived, though Roman's frosty gaze was enough to chill her to the bone. "Sorry. I know I shouldn't have gone AWOL. I got to talking with my dad and I started wandering and then I just lost track of time. . . ." Had she really been talking with Hunter through two decently long matches? It had seemed like a matter of minutes.

"How's your dad?" Roman asked gruffly, wrapping her in a hug. She had been expecting a lengthy speech about how they needed to stay together, so it was a pleasant surprise.

A slight pang of guilt stabbed Becky's gut. "He's holding steady," she fibbed. "No real improvements, but nothing's worse. He goes in for a bunch of tests in a couple days, though, so he's nervous."

"I know that feeling." Roman patted her shoulder. "If you think talking to me would help him at all, I'm happy to. Just say the word."

Dean butted in with a croissant. "You only said to save you one," he remarked, half a croissant hanging out of his mouth like a crescent-shaped cigar.

"C'mon, gang. Let's get out of here. And keep an eye out for Orton," Roman added, hoisting his bag and heading towards a parking lot exit.

Becky said a small prayer when she realized they were heading to another door. She hadn't even considered the possibility of any of her friends walking past that door, hearing her voice, and then peeking out to see her talking with Hunter. "Char," she said softly, beckoning her friend over after she grabbed her bag. They dropped back a bit from the group, but not so much so that Roman would worry. "I had texted a few people I'm still friendly with in WWE," she fibbed, "and one of them thinks he can snag your dad's medical records from Hunter's office. He should know by tomorrow. . . ."

Charlotte nearly sagged with relief, and Becky wrapped an arm around her waist for good measure. "Oh, Becks." She glanced up towards the group and whispered, "I know Roman would be pissed because we're supposed to cut all ties, but . . . thank you. Thank you so much. You don't know how much this means to me."

"Let's just hope it's good news," Becky replied, her phone seeming to burn against her thigh. She hated lying to them, just like she had told Hunter, but if that was the only way things were going to get fixed, then maybe she would finally have to have a heel turn.


	4. Chapter 4

Becky wasn't sure why, but she usually found it more difficult to sleep in the rental houses than in hotel rooms. There were all sorts of horror stories about hotel rooms, of course, but there was a sense of blankness there as well; it was meant to feel comfortable, but not homey. Even though their current rental was very obviously a second house bought to generate income, staying there felt more like trespassing somehow. There weren't any personal items on display, but it still felt like a home. In some ways, that also made it feel more secure. She didn't have to worry about a fan—well-intentioned or otherwise—discovering her hotel room number and sliding something under her door. All her friends were close by, and she could walk across the hall in her underwear without worrying about having her picture taken—except maybe by Charlotte.

Everything good about the house seemed to amplify its opposite, however. The arrangement should have felt like an adult slumber party, but Becky felt incredibly isolated, partly by her own design. The ambience was cozy, but it just made her miss her own home that much more. The intimacy of the setting left her longing for the other things that should have come with it: a dog curled up on the sofa, comfortable amounts of clutter, a partner to cuddle and watch a movie with. _You could have the last one if you wanted it,_ her traitorous brain said. Though Roman had tried to put Seth in a room as far from Becky's as possible, it was still a medium-sized house; it wouldn't have been hard to sneak down the hall and knock on his door. The biggest obstacle in her way was herself.

And a certain secret. All through their late dinner, Becky agonized over telling the others that she had seen Hunter and Randy at the event. But she said nothing at the restaurant or on the ride back to the rental or even during their late-night drinks, when the camaraderie made some of her tension ease. Even Seth was laughing, seeming more comfortable with Dean's teasing; once he realized that Dean did that to everyone, he started retaliating. " _Don't,_ Renee had groaned, grabbing a bottle of wine and dumping the rest of it in her glass. "Now he's going to be even worse because he has more people to bother."

Dean, on the other hand, had grinned like a madman. "I knew there had to be something Irish saw in you, Rollins." 

It had taken Becky a moment to even register the innocent comment and to her relief, no one called him out on it. It was probably because they were all tired and pleasantly buzzed, but she decided to take it as a partial victory anyway. _In vino veritas,_ she recited as she helped clean up the living room. The sooner their evening amicability would carry over into daytime, the better.

When she retreated to her room to sleep, though, Becky felt all the nagging doubts creeping back in, twisting the effects of the wine to their advantage. She tried making herself tired by catching up on some email and then reading, but it was well past two when she finally fell asleep. Her dream had two distinct halves: an absurd extravaganza of colour and music in which Naomi, one of the girls she missed the most from WWE, was leading an all-girl dance troupe through some generic small town in Ireland accompanied by Christmas llamas; and a far simpler tableau in which Seth came to her room and wanted to talk. As much as Becky wanted to see how the second half progressed, the more raucous first half kept taking over.

So when there was a knock on her door, she didn't stir right away, assuming it was part of her dream and that the Seth portion had finally managed to usurp the dance parade long enough for something to happen. It wasn't until she heard her name that she realized it wasn't a third dream trying to start, but someone at her door. "Yeah?" she mumbled, trying to peel her tongue free from the top of her mouth. She had forgotten to bring a glass of water in with her, and her bedroom didn't have an en suite.

"Hey, Becks. Can I come in?" It was Roman's voice, as warm and comforting as the cinnamon toast he made so well at breakfast.

"Yeah," Becky repeated, turning over onto her side and cuddling under her blankets. Because there were so many other people in the house, she was wearing pyjamas, but she was still cold. _I should get my circulation checked_ , she thought as Roman stepped inside. Still in the dregs of her dream, she had a moment in which she thought it was Seth: dark eyes, long dark hair, tall. Roman was only wearing pyjama pants, though, so his sleeve tattoo was plainly visible. "I'm not getting out of bed yet," she warned as he shut the door behind him. "I'm comfy."

Laughing, Roman set a glass of water down on the nightstand. "I noticed you didn't take water with you. I wasn't sure if you were that tired or if you just didn't want to talk to me." He sat down on the floor, and between his impressive height and the lowered bed, he was able to rest his chin on the mattress. "I just wanted to check in and ask how you're doing. I thought there might have been something you didn't want to mention in front of the others. . . ."

Becky rubbed at her face, grateful for the haze of sleep. It would excuse so many evasions: slow replies, incomplete answers, foggy memories. "No. It's just with my dad. There's so much going on at once. . . ."

Roman reached over the edge of the mattress and squeezed her hand. "It's rough, I know. If I can do anything to help, just say the word."

"Just be my friend." When Roman looked confused at that, Becky added, "I still have a dad, Roman. And I have an older brother too. Just be my friend. Friends are family too."

"Which is a nice way of saying _Enough with the overprotective routine_ , right?" Roman chuckled, his sheepish smile wide. "I'm sorry. It's a habit. I'm so used to being a dad at home that it carries over. But I'll work on that, I promise." He ran his thumb over her knuckles. "Anything else I can do?"

Becky went to raise an eyebrow, but since her face was still half-buried in her pillow, much of the effect was lost. "Cinnamon toast for breakfast would be amazing."

"I can do that." Roman didn't budge, though, and he kept holding her gaze. It was more tender than demanding, and somehow that made Becky feel worse. "When you weren't answering your phone last night, I worried that you might have run into Randy and maybe you didn't want to say anything in front of the whole gang." He didn't drop his gaze, but his eyes seemed to darken. "I know that probably makes me sound paranoid or like I'm doing the overbearing-dad thing, but I'm just trying to do my part to keep us all safe."

"I know." Becky squeezed his hand back, wriggling a bit closer so she could hug his arm. It was warm and, unlike her thoughts, solid and reliable. "But if Randy was coming for any of us, it would be Seth—for obvious reasons—or you or Charlotte. I don't think Hunter's too fussed about the rest of us. I was catching up on some clips last night and they've completely glossed over Renee's departure. They just brought up some commentator from NXT to take her spot and didn't mention her at all."

Roman sighed as he looked up to the window. The sun was up, but nowhere near its maximum brightness; Becky hadn't looked at a clock yet, but she would have guessed it was about seven or so. "You don't give yourself nearly enough credit, Irish," he said gruffly. "Who gets the biggest cheers in most of the places we go? You and Bayley. Because you two have worked your asses off for everything, and people are happy to see you out from under WWE's foot."

"To be fair, you and Dean are kinda terrifying." They both laughed at that and Becky finally released his arm so she could sit up and stretch. 

"Not nearly as terrifying as you." Roman stood and kissed the top of her head. "After that first time we saw Seth in the bar, I asked you to let me know if he showed up again, and you didn't." His tone wasn't accusatory, but Becky still felt like shrinking back under the covers. "If I asked you to let me know if you see Randy, am I going to get the same result?"

Becky narrowed her eyes. "You know how the Irish feel about snakes. Supposedly they couldn't have even been there because it's an island or some sciency thing, yet there's _still_ a story about them being banished. That should tell you something."

Roman smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. "What it tells me, Becks, is that you didn't really answer the question."

Was she likely to see Randy—or Hunter, for that matter—in person again? Probably not. She had wrangled some information for Charlotte; that was as far as she planned to go. Hunter had given her a nice speech the night before and part of her desperately wanted to believe in it, but the rest of her—the part that had started her career making thirty dollars a night if she were lucky, the part that was now sharing a house with some of her closest friends as they scrambled to find any promotion that would schedule them—was too jaded for that. "I promise you if I see Randy, I will tell you."

"Thank you." Then he ruffled Becky's already mussed hair. Without WWE's hair and make-up budget, extensions were more of a burden than anything and she resolved to take hers out soon; maybe she could incorporate it into a new character gimmick. "When do you think you'll be dragging your ass downstairs for breakfast? You'll get the honour of the first two pieces of cinnamon toast."

"Yay me." Becky grabbed her phone off the nightstand and checked the time. "Give me half an hour? This bed is so comfy."

Roman shook his head as he walked to the door. "For someone who's almost always cold, you wear an awful lot of sleeveless shirts. You either need to move somewhere warm, or you need to learn to layer."

"If you're going to keep acting like a big brother," Becky retorted with a grin, "your family can adopt me and I'll move to Samoa."

"And burn in about three seconds flat. Half an hour, Irish. After that, I make no guarantees." Roman shut the door behind him and Becky could hear him walking down the hall.

Once she realized she still had her phone in her hand, Becky typed in her code and looked at the app screen as she drank some water. Before she could stop herself, she opened up her messaging app and started a new message. When her phone asked who the recipient was, she scrolled down to Hunter's secret entry. _Michael_ was his middle name, she thought, so it wasn't that much of a reach, but it was also a fairly common name. Then she typed out a bland message: _Hey, Michael! It's Tracey. New phone, so I'm updating my contacts._

Becky didn't expect a response right away, so she lurched out of bed and started to get her toiletries out of her bag. Before she had her clothes set out, her phone pinged and she made a note to set a special notification sound for the number. After Seth's oversight with his privacy settings, she had made sure hers were set to only show that she had a new message, not the sender or the contents. _Good to hear from you, Tracey. It was nice catching up last night. Hope you found your jacket, because you looked like you were freezing!_ It was followed up by a snowman emoji.

_It could still be Randy,_ Becky thought as she formulated her reply. He had been outside too, watching her shiver, and she wouldn't put it past Hunter to have Randy do his dirty work so if there were any repercussions, they'd fall on Orton instead of himself. _My brother said the same thing,_ she replied. Would he take that as a warning about Roman? She wasn't sure.

_Pop's doctor gave me his results, if you want to take a look._ Then a window popped up on her phone, asking for permission to download the files. She tapped yes and went back to the message while the files were saving. _Let me know when you're free to talk again and we can discuss them._

_Will do. Thanks for getting them for me._ That seemed noncommittal enough.

_Promised I would, didn't I?_ Translation: I keep my word. Becky knew how to read between the lines. _Hope we can talk soon. Have a good night at work._

_You too._ Becky left the first two parts unanswered and put her phone in sleep mode. Her shower could wait. She could hear more people getting up and milling about, and if she wanted to have any hope of navigating the minefield she found herself in, she was going to need more than two pieces of cinnamon toast as fuel.


	5. Chapter 5

Wrestlers were used to being two people in a way. While some had in-ring personas that were close to their true selves, others were wildly different. Becky had met wrestlers who were total egomaniacs in the ring, but outside of it they wanted nothing more than to go home, put on their coziest pyjamas, and cuddle with their dog. Keeping some distinction between the two was always a battle, especially when trying to eke out some private time while being in the public eye. At the moment, she felt torn between three separate selves: herself, her wrestling persona, and the friend who was secretly communicating with the enemy.

The rift was getting worse because it was getting harder and harder to see Hunter as the enemy. Ultimately, all the big decisions still went through Vince, even if he just gave paperwork a cursory glance and scrawled out a quick signature. But in her conversations with Hunter, he had been surprisingly open and accommodating. As promised, he made arrangements with the hospital so Charlotte had unrestricted access to her father; she just had to call first, since he'd had a relapse and was only allowed one visitor at a time. Whenever Ric had a test done, Hunter sent Becky the results within a day of receiving them himself. He never threatened, he never pushed; the hardest thing about the conversations was carving out some solitary time to have them so she wouldn’t be overheard by any of the others.

_When is Charlotte coming to the hope sitar next?_ Hunter texted, quickly followed up by a correction. _Hospital. Damn buttons are so small._

Becky didn't quite stifle her chuckle, but when she glanced up, no one in the living room seemed to have noticed. Roman, Dean, Seth, Renee, and Charlotte were all watching a football game, and Sasha and Bayley had gone to volunteer at a local animal shelter. They had invited her along, but Becky hadn't felt like putting on her wrestling persona. _You should hire one of your daughters to be your texter,_ she replied. 

_If I thought they could keep their mouths shut, I would._ The lag between texts meant Hunter was taking his time typing. _Any chance we can talk rather than text?_

Her heart fluttered a bit as she looked across the room at her friends, hollering at the television and each other, tossing popcorn and clinking beer bottles. _Yeah. Give me a few minutes. I'll call you,_ she replied. Then she hit the archive button, hiding the whole conversation and saving it in a private folder. It was a number none of the others would recognize, but that didn't mean precautions weren't wise. "Hey, guys?" She stood and shook Roman's shoulder, since he was sitting closest to her. "I'm just going out in the back yard to make a call, okay? Nothing's wrong," she added quickly. "I just want more quiet and less. . . ."

"This?" Roman chuckled. "Sure thing. Since the game's running long, we're probably going to order in. Any requests?"

Becky shook her head. "You know what I like. Let me know how much I owe when I get back in." Her gaze caught on Seth's briefly and the flutter in her chest intensified. They weren't having sex again yet, but they had been having some deep conversations while the others were asleep. A few of those had ended with kisses, but they were both very aware that there was a lot between them that needed to be mended. 

The house they were renting had a swing set in the back yard, so Becky headed for it, bare feet tickled by the grass. Sometimes their nomadic lifestyle felt downright domestic, sharing a house and meals and working together; it just rarely happened to be the same house for more than a few days, and sometimes working together meant fighting each other. Keeping her eye on the back door, Becky called Hunter's private number as she sat on one of the swings. 

"Hey." Hunter's voice was warm, friendly; it wouldn't have been out of place in the house, deep in the midst of the football frenzy. "That was fast."

"A bunch of them are watching football," Becky explained, pushing away the small pang of melancholy that threatened to take root in her stomach. In some ways, she was as much an outsider in the group as Seth was; for all her years in the United States, she was still resolutely Irish and it showed. "So why do you want to know when Charlotte's going to visit her dad?"

"I'd like you to go along," Hunter replied. Becky's stomach tightened a bit at that, but since she didn't reply, he continued. "They haven't updated his visitor request log yet, but I figured you would know. He's still only allowed one visitor at a time, so you can just claim you're there for moral support. While she's in talking to Ric, you can be talking eith me."

Becky glanced at the door, as if expecting Charlotte to be summoned by the mere mention of her family. Charlotte had marveled at the medical news Becky was able to get her and was so grateful for the hospital access that she hadn't ever really questioned how it came about. "That's a bit risky, isn't it? What if she finishes early and comes looking for me? Or—"

"I'll make arrangements with the nurses," Hunter interjected smoothly. "I was going to suggest meeting for dinner, but if we're seen together in public, you know what will happen."

"Blurry photos, vague details, and dubious 'sources' saying I'm coming back to WWE." Becky went quiet for a moment, trailing her toes through the grass. "Besides, I know the kind of restaurants you like, and I'm pretty sure I don't have any suitable clothes in my saddlebag."

Hunter just chuckled. "Honestly, Lynch, you would be surprised how much I miss greasy late-night meals on the road. Don't get me wrong: the money's great, and I love my job. But it can feel like the suit is wearing me rather than the other way around. If you let me know what you'd want to eat, I could pick it up on the way. So when's Charlotte coming?"

"Just a minute. I think I have it on my calendar." Becky held her phone away from her and went through her apps slowly. It was one thing for her to go behind everyone's back and talk with Hunter; involving Charlotte as part of a cover, even if she didn't know about it, made Becky uneasy. "Looks like this Thursday—probably in the afternoon. We have a show on Friday night and the hospital's on the way." There wasn't much point in hiding their itinerary from him anymore, since he seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere, and they had been sticking to the east coast so Charlotte had easier access to her father.

"Would that work for you?" Hunter asked, voice giving away nothing.

"Sure." Becky tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. Texts were best; it was easy to hide behind typed words and emojis. Even phone calls weren't bad, because you could always claim to have bad reception. Meeting in person, however, would give her limited ways to evade. "I'll text you when I have a better idea of the time."

"And some food options, don't forget." Hunter paused then, long enough to make Becky wonder if he was hiding from people on his end as well. In all their interactions, she had never really thought about the risks he was taking in talking to her and sending Ric's medical details along. He might be Stephanie's husband and Vince's son-in-law, but his actions carried their own set of consequences, ones she probably couldn't even fathom. "So how are things?"

She answered him honestly. The very first time he had asked her how she was, she had been tired and upset and too irritable to lie, and after that it was almost cathartic. It wasn't that her friends wouldn't listen to her problems, but more than Hunter wouldn't sugar-coat anything. "They're okay. Living quarters are a bit cramped, which means we're butting heads more often."

"And your father?" Hunter's voice softened as he asked the question. Her father had been having some minor health problems back when she was still with WWE—seemingly unrelated ailments she had to wonder about in hindsight—but over the course of their various talks, Becky had told Hunter most of what was going on.

"He's . . . holding steady, mostly. But it's hard." Becky took a deep breath and stared up at the sky, trying to keep herself from tearing up. One of the good things about their scattered nomadic lifestyle was that there wasn't an abundance of free time to worry about things. Whenever she stopped and slowed down, though, her father was always the first person in her thoughts.

"Say the word, Lynch, and we'll get you over there to see him. No strings attached, I swear. I'll pay for it myself. No one would need to know any details." Hunter cleared his throat, and Becky used the noise as cover to let out a quick sob and wipe at her face.

"Thanks." Then she leaned hard on the swing, making the chains creak. "Sorry, gotta go. Someone's coming," she fibbed quickly, bouncing to her feet. Talking with Hunter only worked when she could keep a level head, and that was almost impossible to do once she got thinking about her dad. "I'll text you by tomorrow morning with more details."

"Sounds good. Take care, Lynch. And call whenever you need to. It doesn't have to be about Ric or wrestling or any of this," Hunter added. "You know I'll listen."

"Thanks." It sounded more hollow the second time she said it, but thankfully Hunter didn't reply. "Talk soon." After she disconnected, Becky took a deep breath and looked down at her phone. Such a small thing, and it was bringing such confusion into her life. As she headed back towards the house, hearing jovial and slightly drunken yelling before she even reached the patio, she tried to put thoughts of Thursday out of her mind. She would concentrate on things as they came, hour by hour, and hopefully find a way to bring the worlds of two of her personas within the same orbit so the third could have some peace. The trick was going to be figuring out which of her selves could co-exist, and which would have to make the sacrifice.


	6. Chapter 6

"Thanks so much for coming with me, Becks." Charlotte slung an arm along her friend's shoulders and pulled her in close, kissing the top of Becky's head. "I know we can't both talk to Dad at the same time, but hospitals aren't my favourite place to be." Her shudder was only slightly overdramatic. "So it's easier to be here with someone else."

"No worries." Becky's grip on her phone tightened just a fraction. "I wanted to get more information on cancer treatments so I can understand more of the information Richy sends me, so I'll go to Oncology while you're in with your dad. Just text me when you're done and I'll come meet you." That seemed safer than having Charlotte wander the halls for her and catching a glimpse of Hunter. "The cancer ward might not allow cell phone use," she added, "so I'll step out and check every ten minutes or so."

As soon as they neared the ICU, Charlotte slowed and gave Becky a hug that almost made her ribs creak. "Okay. If you don't reply right away, I'll head down to the food court and get some coffee." Without her make-up and hair extensions, she could be virtually unrecognizable to fans; Becky had most of her hair up in her slouchy knit cap, a pair of sunglasses at the ready. 

"Have a good visit." Becky kissed her friend's cheek and turned the corner, ostensibly heading for the elevators. Instead she opened her messaging app and looked for messages from Hunter. _I'm here. I need to stop by Oncology for my cover. Where are you?_ she sent.

 _Great minds, as they say. That's where I am. Sign in at the nursing station and they'll give you the room number._ Hunter ended his message with an emoji of a coffee cup. That had been her meal request, essentially: good coffee. She and the others were spending so much time on the road that they didn't have much time to find good quality cafes. 

_Be right there._ Becky already knew which floor—she made a point of figuring it out in case Charlotte questioned her cover story—and the elevator was mercifully empty.

"Are you Tracey?" a nurse asked as soon as she exited the elevator, taking Becky aback. That was her code name with Hunter, and she hadn't thought to ask if that's what she was supposed to give at the desk. She went with it, putting on a bit of an American accent to further disguise herself. "Your friend is in Room 478. It's the second door on your left. Don't worry: it's safe. Nothing's been used yet."

Becky wasn't sure what the nurse meant by that, but she guessed that 'Tracey' wouldn't need to ask, so she nodded her thanks and headed down the wide corridor. The door to 478 was closed, so she knocked once before trying the knob. "Come in." Hunter's authoritative voice was instantly recognizable.

So were the chemotherapy chairs Becky saw when she opened the door. There were eight in total, arranged in a semi-circle so patients could talk with each other, she supposed. _So that's what the nurse meant,_ she thought grimly, taking a sharp breath. _No worries about radiation. . . ._

Hunter rose smoothly, his grimace looking genuine as he crossed the room to meet her. "Sorry. I know this is . . . not the visual you need at the moment. But it's not ready for use yet, so we won't have to worry about being interrupted. If it's too much," he added, patting her shoulder, "we can find somewhere else. . . ."

Becky shook her head. "No, this is fine." She focussed her gaze on the side table by the chair where Hunter had been sitting. Two large cups of coffee billowed out steam, and she saw a stack of brightly coloured papers under a pastry bag. "Thanks for the coffee. Hope it wasn't too much trouble." She took the chair on the other side of the table and grabbed the cup closest to her, taking an experimental sniff. _Heaven,_ she thought, chancing a sip even though the coffee was clearly hot. What she could taste past the sheer heat of it was delicious—so much richer than what she had been getting at fast-food places and donut shops.

"Not at all. I don't know how much you've been following the product lately, but there's a new European on RAW. Goes by Cesaro. Speaks five languages and he's a coffee connoisseur; you'd like him. Anyway, whenever we're in a new city, he always finds the best places," Hunter explained. "I told him I was meeting a friend who was craving good coffee and he suggested this place. Hope you like it." Then he leaned back in his chair and grabbed his cup; even the large size seemed dwarfed by his fingers. 

"He picked well. It's paradise in a cup." Becky took a few more small sips before forcing herself to focus. She supposed a little courtesy wouldn't hurt, so she gestured at the collection of bracelets his daughters had made him. "So how's your family doing?"

Hunter humoured her. "Good, good. Vaughn's in double digits now, which is kind of terrifying. All my little girls are growing up. Steph's busy, of course, but getting better about taking some time for herself. And the dogs are good too, since I know you're going to ask."

Becky chuckled and shrugged. "That's me, asking the hard-hitting questions." She grabbed her coffee again. Now that it was cooler, she could let it sit on her tongue a bit longer and try to figure out specific notes. "So what did you want to talk about?" Despite the hot coffee, her gut went cold. The updates on Ric's condition and Charlotte's access were supposed to be freebies, but Becky knew Hunter wasn't keeping in touch out of the goodness of his heart or even simple curiosity; might as well find out his ulterior motives now so she could start dealing with them.

"I wanted to give you something." Hunter reached down into a messenger-style bag and pulled out an elegant notebook with a pen clipped to the cover. 

Curious, Becky took it and opened it up, flipping through the pages. It was blank from beginning to end, its paper as luxurious under her fingers as the gourmet coffee was on her tongue. "What's this for?" It was well known that she still kept a journal, but she never used notebooks this fancy.

Hunter's mouth was partially hidden by his coffee cup, so Becky couldn’t tell if he was smiling or smirking; with him, they were often the same anyway. "Whatever you want," he said. "You write down what you want, what it would take to get you back with us—requests, demands, whatever you want to call them—and I'll tell you if I can make it happen."

Though the notebook felt soft as suede under her fingers, Becky handed it back to him. "You write it down," she suggested. "My handwriting's sloppy." She also didn't want him having that large a sample of her handwriting.

Clicking open the pen, Hunter shrugged and flipped to the book's first page. "Whatever you want." She wasn't sure if he was humouring her request, repeating himself, or a bit of both.

"No particular order?" Becky's chest felt tight. Even contemplating what he was offering should have felt like selling her soul to the devil, but there was a curious buzz of relief in her head instead. Maybe all this scraping by and struggling could come to an end. "No repercussions for Roman, Dean, Charlotte, Sasha, Bayley, Renee, or Seth." She had hesitated before adding Renee, but Hunter must have realized where the former WWE announcer had gone. "No violation of contract lawsuits. Let them keep their WWE names. Just . . . leave them out of all of this."

After a long, considering look, Hunter nodded and made some notes. "That's very considerate of you, Lynch. Most people would try to secure something for themselves first."

Becky stared down at her coffee cup, drumming her fingers on the sides. "I'm getting there. Charlotte keeps her access to her father. You . . . can find a way to send the test results directly to her since. . . ." _Since I won't be there_ sat unspoken on her tongue. "No more spying on them. No bullying other promotions into not hiring them." She waited until Hunter finished writing to continue. "I know I'll have to prove myself again. I'm not expecting title shots right out of the gate. But I'm not jobbing to everyone in the division either. I don't want any humiliation storylines. I'm no one's girlfriend or manager or valet. I want to wrestle, and I want to wrestle regularly—and not just in dark matches or on Main Event."

"Becky, we wouldn't even be talking if you were destined to be enhancement talent. We can get people for that anywhere. What I said to Seth months ago still holds true: we want to rebuild our women's division," Hunter declared, "and we want you to be a part of that." Using the pen, he pointed at the notebook. "Anything else?"

Becky paused. "Wait a minute. This isn't binding, right?" She hadn't come to their meeting with the mindset for a contract negotiation; she wasn't prepared to match cunning with the man once—and still—known as the Cerebral Assassin.

Hunter shook his head. "No. I'll take this back to Legal, see what I can make happen and what I can't, and then we'll draft something up. When it's ready, I'll let you know and we can tweak any details we need to. When everyone's happy, it gets signed."

"Good." Becky let out a small sigh of relief. That would give her a bit of time to consider her options, at least. "Um . . . Randy stays far the fuck away from me. I know he's part of The Authority and all that, but I want nothing to do with him. At all."

"Noted." Hunter wrote something down and underlined it twice for emphasis. "May I ask what you have against him?"

Becky shook her head. "Nothing I feel like talking about today." That left it open for future discussions, ones she hoped she would never need to have.

After a few moments of strained silence, Hunter said, "This is a good start, Lynch. I'll see what I can do with—"

"A bike," she blurted, nearly spilling what little remained of her coffee. "Motorcycle. A good one. I'll . . . I'm going to have to leave mine behind if I want to make a quick exit, so I'll need a new one."

Hunter gave a deep belly laugh, and Becky took some solace in it. Let him think she could be bought, that she could be placated with a shiny new ride and some promised good matches. "Lynch, I'm not even going to write that down. I'll buy you one myself."

Becky shook her head. "I know how McMahons can work. Write it down."

Still laughing, Hunter made a note and then handed the book to Becky. "Everything there?"

She took a moment to read over his notes. In point form, her demands looked so paltry. Should she ask for more? She'd have to do some brainstorming. "Looks good. For now." She grabbed her phone and took a picture of the list for reference before handing the book back. "I'll have to do some thinking. I wasn't expecting a contract negotiation today."

"I was hoping for one," Hunter replied. "In all honesty, I was hoping I could just convince you to come back with me, but I understand why you need time." He looked at the list one last time before closing the book. "I hope I can trust you not to put that picture out on social media."

"I don't plan on telling anyone we were talking today," Becky replied. "I imagine you feel the same." She stood and reluctantly set down the coffee cup. It had the cafe logo on the side, so there would be no way she could explain it away to Charlotte. As soon as she thought of her friend, she checked her messages, but there were no new notifications. "I should get going—"

"Don't forget your cover story." Hunter stood as well, lifting the pastry bag and handing her the bright papers beneath it. "Pamphlets," he explained, "for your cover."

"Thanks. You thought of everything." Becky eyed the pastry bag longingly and, after a moment of indecision, reached inside and grabbed two macadamia nut cookies. She could have them eaten long before she reunited with Charlotte. "And thanks for the coffee."

Hunter nodded. "I'll tell Cesaro he chose well." Then he held out his hand to shake. "Becky, you don't have to be looking for a trap door. This isn't a set-up. Think whatever you want of Vince—God knows I don't always agree with him—but this is coming from _me_. Me and Steph. We want to make this work. We have no intentions of luring you back only to bury you in the mid-card, okay? We want this to work for all of us."

Becky nodded, only half-listening as she shook his hand. Part of her knew Hunter would say and do whatever he thought necessary and worry about cleaning up his mess later. She, on the other hand, was trying to fix an existing mess and prevent any further damage. "Touch wood."

"I'll be in touch." She was halfway to the door before he added, "Nice match in Pittsburgh, by the way. You can get others over while doing the same for yourself. It's a rare skill."

"Thanks." Becky crammed a cookie in her mouth before she could say anything else and headed for the elevator. A quick check of her phone showed that she still didn't have a message from Charlotte, so she headed down to the food court on her own. _She must be having a nice visit. That's good._ If she'd been able to visit her dad so regularly, she would take all the time she could as well.

Charlotte texted just after Becky had bought a coffee of her own—far weaker than the one Cesaro had recommended. _Ready to roll? I'll treat you to supper,_ Charlotte offered, studding her message with hearts. 

_Sure. I'll meet you by the bikes._ By the time Becky arrived, Charlotte was already there, tucking some papers into her saddlebag. It made Becky take a second look at her own bike, and for a moment, she was taken back to that night outside the pub when Seth had left her a note. This time the paper just barely sticking out was the top of a pastry bag—the one she had reluctantly left behind—with no message, just a single scrawled _H_ and the rest of the treats.


	7. Chapter 7

Normalcy was such an odd thing, an average taken over weeks or months rather than a snapshot of any given day. More than a week had passed since Becky had met with Hunter at the hospital, and each day she kept that to herself weighed on her more. As much as she wished there were a way for everyone to be on the same side, she didn't think it was possible. There was going to be a line, an irrefutable line, and no matter which side she was on, she knew some of her friends would end up on the other. Hunter had texted a few times with contract updates, explaining what was a sticking point and what had been accepted, and as soon as she got the notice that the contract was finalized, Becky felt paralyzed by choice.

Keeping on as she had been was obviously an option, and in many ways the easiest one. All she would have to do is tell Hunter she had changed her mind, and then they would all be dancing to the same tune again: Becky and her friends eking out a living in the indies, Hunter and WWE chipping away at their options until an inevitable move overseas fractured their group. Roman had a family to consider, one he would never uproot and move on a whim—and just like that, they would be scattered, some to Europe and others to Asia, only reuniting on holidays or during cross-promotional events. The likelihood of everyone going back to WWE was slim, as were their chances of all getting signed to a lesser promotion; as much as the smaller leagues would love to have their group, none of them had the budget to sign so many names at the same time, even if they would be big audience draws.

A rift was going to be inevitable no matter what; all that was yet to be determined was who was on which side. And she was the one who would get to choose first.

So Becky aimed for a scattershot serving of normal. As much as she wanted to cherish her final few days with her friends and make them warm, positive memories, she knew it would be too suspicious. She let herself get irritated at the volume of a football game. She declined an offer from Sasha to go clothes shopping. Some days she slept in; others she was the first one to start the coffeemaker. She tried to vary her moods and routine enough that when her friends inevitably looked back and tried to psychoanalyze her behaviour, there would be no discernible pattern, nothing they could blame themselves for not seeing at the time.

It also meant that, as much as she might have liked to, she didn't have sex with Seth before she left. They had been rebuilding their trust far too slowly for it to seem natural. Becky did cheat a bit, though, the evening before she left, and let herself linger with Seth in the backyard. When his fingers brushed the bare skin at her waist, she wanted to grab his hand and keep it there, but she forced herself to take a step back. "Don't apologize," she had said quickly. "I . . . just don't think it's a good idea." And it wasn't, but not for the reasons he would be thinking of. "Big day tomorrow and all. . . ." They would be spending most of the day on the road, which would give her plenty of time alone with her thoughts.

Seth's smile was losing more of its sheepishness each day, and she hoped her abrupt exit wouldn't set him back. "What happened to that Gryffindor nerve?"

"Not sure you should be trying to seduce me with comparisons from a children's novel series." It had made Becky laugh, though, and then Seth had joined in, and she had felt reasonably assured that the moment would be paved over in his memories with a general sheen of normalcy. If someone asked him if Becky had been acting strangely, he wouldn't be likely to say _Well, she told me to get her hand away from her ass and made fun of me for making a Harry Potter reference._

The hustle and bustle of the next day, full of travel and unpacking and buying supplies, gave Becky plenty of opportunities to subtly transfer things from her saddlebag to her large rucksack without drawing attention. She retired to her room somewhere near the middle of the pack: not first like Renee and Dean—who definitely weren't going to sleep—and not last like Sasha, who had to call her cousin about doing new theme music. She made sure her copy of the rental key was easy to find, and she put everything for her bike beside it; as much as it pained her to leave it behind, she hoped her friends could make use of it somehow. 

Then she waited. She waited until her heart was calm and steady. She waited until she couldn't hear any voices or music in the house. She waited until darkness filled every room, every corridor. Then she grabbed her bag, crept down the steps, and headed for the back door, thankful that the house didn't have an alarm system she would have to contend with. She had worn her darkest clothes and quietest shoes; she had even turned her phone off entirely, just so it couldn't betray her with a stray beep.

But she hadn't bargained on someone already being in the kitchen. "Hey, Irish." Dean quietly opened the fridge door, grabbed a granola bar of all things—why had that even been in the fridge?—and leaned against the counter. Becky's heart lodged in her throat, her hands dropping uselessly to her sides; any minute now Dean was going to turn on lights or holler for the others or. . . . "I'm not going to rat you out," he said softly, "and I'm not going to stop you. So don't worry." The only light in the kitchen came from the window, so she could see that he was wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts.

It took Becky almost a minute to be able to speak, and even then she didn't trust her voice. "I just need some time away," she croaked at last, feeling tears prick at her eyes. Her plan hadn't factored in being caught, or having a fraught farewell.

Tucking the granola bar in his waistband, Dean nodded. "All right." Then he grabbed a set of keys down from the wall, crammed his feet in his shoes, and opened the door. "Walk and talk."

"Uh. . . ." Becky wasn't sure what to say. It didn't seem like Dean was going to stop her or tell the others, so she wasn't exactly sure what he was up to. "You're wearing boxers. . . ."

Dean shrugged. "Everything that legally has to be covered is covered, Irish. Don't act like we haven't seen people wearing worse in Walmart—or less."

The longer she lingered—especially if Dean insisted on talking—the more likely she was to be discovered, so Becky ducked out into the backyard and waited for Dean to lock the door behind him. "Listen, Dean—"

He held a finger up to his mouth and motioned for her to follow him to the back gate. Once they were a few houses down, he tore open the granola bar wrapper and offered her one of the bars inside. "I'm also not going to ask you where you're going or why," he said, voice only slightly louder than it had been in the house. "But I am going to ask if you have a plan. Because you're clearly not taking your bike. . . ."

"I'd love to," Becky admitted, "but I couldn't think of a way to do it without getting caught. The key and everything is on my dresser. Give it to Renee, yeah? In case she gets sick of riding with you. If she doesn't want it, then . . . just sell it, I guess." A fresh flood of impending tears clogged up her throat.

Dean wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Never. We'll keep it in case you want to come back." She noticed that he said _in case_ , not _for when_ , and without hesitation. Had he been considering leaving as well? Was that why he was so understanding? "So you have a plan, right? You're not just . . . walking to the bus station and taking the first one that has your lucky number on it or something?"

"I have a plan," Becky said, voice shaking. "And . . . someone's meeting me a few blocks up. So I should probably go. . . ." She had already sent Hunter a coded text and it was almost time for her to call him so he knew she was out of the house. But there was no way she wanted to risk Hunter seeing Dean or vice versa. 

"I get it, Irish. I do. Before Renee left. . . ." Dean pushed back his messy hair with his free hand. "I thought about it a lot. So I'm not judging. Believe me. I will ask you to stay in touch, though, at least with me. At least until I know you're somewhere safe. Is that cool?" When Becky nodded, he poked at her bag. "You got any paper in there, or are you all digital now?"

"Just a sec." Becky crammed the last of the granola bar in her mouth and crouched, swinging her bag around and pulling out her journal. She handed the pen to Dean and then flipped to an open page. "But I already know your number, Dean—"

Dean shook his head, grabbing her journal and tilting it under the streetlight so he could see. "You have _one of_ my numbers, Irish. Roman . . . wasn't always cool with me calling Renee in the early days after we left—that'd be before we aligned with the Four. So I had a second phone. Old as fuck, slow as shit, you know the deal, but I could text Renee from it and he didn't know. Or at least I don't think he did. I upgraded the phone, but kept the number." He scrawled a name and phone number down and handed the journal and pen back to Becky. "At least let me know when you get where you're going, okay? I won't tell the others." Then he gave her a lopsided smile. "I'd like to keep in touch, Irish, if you're cool with it. I like you. If I weren't with Renee . . . well, no." He burst out laughing. "We still wouldn't work. I mean, the sex would probably be great, but we'd end up killing each other. We're probably better as friends."

"I think so too." Tears started slowly tracking down Becky's cheeks and she did her best to keep them from spattering on her journal as she read what Dean had written. " _John_? That's your code name? That’s . . . pretty much your legal name."

Dean tapped the page. "Nope. I don't use the H. See? Master of subtlety." When Becky raised her eyebrow, he sighed, crossed out _John_ , wrote _Don_ over top, and handed back her pen. "Better? It's like those ship names they use on Tumblr. _Jon_ plus _Dean_ is _Don_." Then he paused. "Or _Jean_ , I guess. Whatever works."

Becky sniffled. " _Don_ will do. I'll . . . have a new number soon," she hedged, "so I'll send you a message about your favourite granola bars being back in stock or something. Then you'll know it's me." Then she sighed. "You should go. You're going to get cold, and if anyone in the house wakes up and finds _two_ people missing. . . ."

"Yeah." Dean drew her into a shamelessly tight hug. "I'm going to miss you, Irish. Be safe out there. Text me at least once so I know you're not bleeding out in a ditch, okay?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Becky's instinct was to dry her face on his shirt, but then Renee would wonder why his shirt was damp. Eventually she stepped back and took a deep breath. "Thank you, Dean. Thank you for understanding."

"Any time, Irish. I mean that. I'll be waiting on that text. Okay, enough Father Figure Roman talk from me. Go already. " He wiped some of her tears away before swiping at his own cheeks, then waved abruptly, tossing his granola bar wrapper in the nearest trash can before heading back down the alley.

Becky watched him until she was certain that he was far enough away that he wasn't going to double back and follow her. Then she stowed her journal away, took out her phone, and closed her bag. As she waited for her phone to reboot, she jogged the few blocks to the rendezvous point she and Hunter had agreed upon. There was a small park there, populated only by a few late-night joggers, and as promised, an SUV was idling by one of the entrances. Lingering on the corner, Becky quickly dialed the number Hunter had given her. "I'm here," she said simply.

The SUV's lights flashed in acknowledgement, and it eased forward until it was at her intersection, where he did an illegal U-turn. "Almost thought you were going to cave and try taking your bike, Lynch." Hunter reached over and pushed open the passenger's door. "Just throw your bag in the back seat."

Becky did so, tucking her phone in her pocket as she sat with Hunter up front. "Thanks. So where to?" WWE's next events were several states away, and she doubted Hunter would want to risk being spotted at an airport.

"We're flying out of the nearest city. Vince already had the corporate jet there, so why not?" Hunter glanced over at her and smiled. "Don't worry. He won't be there. He's spending some grandfatherly time with Shane and his sons." Then he gestured at the glove compartment. "The contract's in there, if you want to take a look at the hard copy. The official copy is on the plane with Steph, but I thought you might like some assurances."

"Thanks." The drive was shorter than she expected, but it still gave her time to skim the dense document. She was no lawyer, but from what she could tell, all the terms they had agreed upon were noted, and there was nothing in the contract that seemed misleading. The entire time, she kept listening for her phone, both grateful and disappointed that it didn't ring. There was no reason for her friends to notice her absence yet, not unless someone wanted to talk to her in the middle of the night, but that didn't make the silence any nicer. "It looks good," she said at last.

"Keep it out," Hunter said, then motioned ahead. When Becky looked up, she realized they were already at the airport, bypassing the main areas on a private road. "We'll still have to go through security, but it's blocked off from the public areas, so we won't have to worry about being seen."

Becky tried not to look too impressed. Most WWE wrestlers never even got to see the private jet these days, let alone ride on it, and here she was, getting a flight before her contract was even signed. _Don't read too much into it,_ she told herself. _It's just a happy collision of circumstances._ She turned off her phone in preparation for the flight and tucked it in her jacket, trying not to think about the one option she had dismissed almost immediately: Ireland. She could have left her friends _and_ her career behind and gone back home; she could have gotten back into acting or. . . . 

"Lynch?" At the sound of her name, Becky looked up and realized Hunter had already parked and taken her bag out of the back. "C'mon. We have to clear security. Nothing in your bag that's going to cause trouble?"

"Nope." Becky had been travelling light, so her bag was mostly just her personal clothes; she had thought about bringing her ring gear, but since WWE would undoubtedly want to change her look, there wasn't much point to taking anything but her favourite black boots. The stability of WWE raised another possibility, though. "I haven't been back to my apartment in weeks. Any chance I'll be able to. . . ."

"Of course, of course." Hunter waved her out of the SUV and handed the keys off to an airport worker; Becky realized it must have been a rental of some kind. "Hope your electronics are near the top," he added as he handed her bag over. "You know they always check those."

"Oh. Right." As she followed Hunter into the building, Becky pulled her tablet out along with her passport, tucking the sample contract along the side of her bag. "I'm used to longer waits at the airport. . . ."

"It's a nice perk, I must admit." While she was still getting ready, Hunter went through security first, setting his phone and his wallet in the tray before passing through the scanner gate. "I'm guessing you'll want to change your number when you're settled," he added as she started to load her things in a separate tray, "so you aren't bombarded with calls and texts."

Becky grimaced as she hoisted her bag on the conveyor belt and then stepped through the gate. "Yeah, it's one of the first things I want to do tomorrow." She knew all her stuff was fine, but she still breathed a sigh of relief when nothing beeped. Since she didn't want to keep Hunter waiting, she crammed everything back her bag and zipped it quickly. "All good?"

Hunter smiled, pointing to a short hallway. "All good." The corridor opened straight onto the tarmac, which took Becky by surprise; she was used to the seemingly endless entrance tunnels. There were four planes waiting, but only one of them had the staircase pulled up to its door, and she recognized the familiar symbol emblazoned on its tail. "After you," he said. "You can stow your bag in one of the cabin compartments."

"Okay." Becky took the steps slowly, holding her bag down by her leg so she would be able to navigate the aisle better. Unlike a standard commercial flight, there was no attendant to greet them, no tickets to check, so she turned to her left and saw Stephanie typing away on a laptop. "Hey, Steph." It was probably far too informal for someone who had been away for over a year, but _Ms. McMahon_ could have sounded snarky.

"Becky!" Stephanie seemed genuinely delighted as she hopped out of her seat, scurried down the aisle, and gave Becky a big hug. "We're so happy to have you back! We haven't told the majority of the roster yet, and we have some big plans we'd like to discuss with you about your return, your attire, all of it. It's so exciting! I can't wait until I can reintroduce you to the women's division. We have some great new talent coming up through NXT."

Hunter gently tugged on Becky's bag until she released it, and then he stowed it for her. "Let her breathe, Steph. There's plenty of time to talk shop."

"Plus her coffee is getting cold." Becky hadn't noticed the delicious aroma until someone had mentioned it, but now it filled her head and she gladly accepted the still-steaming cup from someone on the other side of the aisle. The man, tall and lanky, held out his other hand to shake. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Cesaro."

The name rang an immediate bell. "The coffee guy?" Then Becky laughed at herself. "Sorry. I mean . . . yeah. I'm Becky." She gave up and shook his hand, sitting across from him and sipping gratefully at the coffee.

Cesaro just smiled. "There are worse things to be known for. How's this one?"

Becky considered the flavours for a moment. "I think I like this one better than the last. That one was still delicious, but this has chocolate or something. . . ."

Stephanie leaned across her work table and kissed Hunter as he sat. "I know you don't want to talk shop, but we do need to go over the contract. . . ."

"The flight's going to be at least an hour, maybe more because of weather. We have time." Hunter stretched his legs out into the aisle as the safety speech began. "Let's catch up a bit first. Becky's been gone a while, and I'm sure she has all sorts of interesting road stories. . . ."

The plane took off so smoothly that Becky barely even noticed, and as she chatted with Hunter, Stephanie, and Cesaro, her regrets over not saying goodbye to her friends dug their roots in deep. Weren't hard goodbyes better than none at all? It wasn't like any of them would have physically detained her, not even Roman. But she couldn't dwell on that. Soon, there would be a bounty of welcomes, introductions, and reunions, and she hoped the warmth of those would melt the chill in her heart at least a bit.


	8. Chapter 8

_It started like any other day._ That's what people always said when they were asked about what happened before their child went missing or their friend had a sudden heart attack. _There was nothing out of the ordinary._ For wrestlers on the road, there wasn't much that could be categorized as _ordinary_ , but as far as life had been going for The Shield, The Four Horsewomen, and Seth Rollins, that day had started like the so-called ordinary day of clichés and true crime documentaries.

They straggled downstairs to the kitchen in ones or twos, most heading directly for the kitchen, the coffeemaker in particular. It wasn't until the coffeepot was almost empty that they started to notice. "Should I save this for Becky," Seth asked, sloshing the last of the coffee around the pot, "or just finish it and put on a fresh pot?"

They all started looking around at each other, waiting for Becky to pipe up; even if she was dead tired, silence wasn't her natural state. "What the fuck? You mean I got my ass down here before Becky did?" Sasha was still rubbing at her eyes, but she had managed to finish two pancakes and a cup of coffee.

"That never happens," Bayley frowned. "Is she sick or something? She looked okay yesterday."

"She seemed fine the last time I talked to her," Dean offered, leaning against the counter as he waited for his toast to pop.

"Same." Roman stood up and stretched. He started to say something more, but then he took the coffeepot from Seth instead. "I'll make the coffee. Go knock on her door and tell her she's going to be out of luck for breakfast if she doesn't get down here soon."

Everyone fell silent for a minute. Roman had been trying to be more accepting of Seth and of Becky's turbulent feelings for him, but he still normally tried to enforce a certain amount of distance between the two. "Uh, sure." Seth downed the rest of his coffee and headed for the staircase. "Be right back."

Seth wasn't sure what had changed for Roman overnight, but he'd take any progress he could get. He and Becky were talking regularly now—and kissing almost as often—and he hoped that she would be able to forgive him eventually. She would likely never forget his initial deception, but that was his problem, not hers. Knocking on her door, he called out, "Hey, Becks? We're running out of coffee. If you want some, you should get downstairs soon."

He waited one heartbeat, two, three, before knocking again. After a minute or so had passed, Charlotte appeared at the bottom of the staircase. "She's not answering? Let me at her."

As Charlotte headed up the stairs, Sasha yelled, "Don't bother! I'm calling her. She has the most annoying ringtone for me, so it'll wake her up for sure."

"Too late. Out of the way, Rollins." Charlotte gently but firmly pushed Seth to the side before knocking twice on Becky's door and then opening it. "Bec—" She stepped inside and did a quick circuit of the room. "She's . . . not here?"

"What the fuck? Get back here, you two!" Sasha bellowed. After sharing a confused look, Seth and Charlotte went back downstairs to the kitchen, where everyone was clustered around Sasha's phone on the table. The screen showed the profile for Becky, listed as _Bae_. "That's her number, right? We all agree?" Sasha's voice was taut with impatience and a tinge of panic, so everyone nodded or murmured their agreement. "Okay. Now listen." She jacked the volume up, hit the call button, and sat back.

Silence, then three beeps and _We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again._ Sasha tried twice more and then demanded that other people get their phones and try, but they all got the same automated message. "Does anyone have her mom's number?" Charlotte asked. "Or her brother's?"

Roman held up his hands. "Okay. Let's stop and think. We should check the house first. Maybe she couldn't sleep and . . . went to the basement or something. Everyone check a room. If it has a door, close it when you're done so we know someone's looked there."

Coffee cups in hand, the friends fanned out through the house, calling out Becky's name just in case. If it had a door, they opened it: bedroom closets, bathroom storage, even the freezer in the basement. Every few minutes, the tell-tale three-tone beep rang throughout the house as Sasha obsessively redialed Becky's number. "Can you _stop?_ " Charlotte finally snapped, snatching Sasha's phone out of her hand. "It's not going to magically reconnect because you started stalking her!"

Sasha stepped up to Charlotte, toe to toe, and glared up at her as she wrenched her phone away. "Maybe it's a network problem. Maybe she has a shitty phone. We don't know."

Ever the peacemaker, Roman interceded, gently pushing the women away from each other. "Let's calm down and focus. Charlotte, Sasha has a point; sometimes networks have connection issues. Sasha, let's space out the calls a bit, okay? Maybe every ten minutes or so?"

Bayley ran up before either woman could answer. "Her house key is still in her room. So is most of her ring gear, and the stuff for her bike." Her eyes were almost painfully wide.

Roman let out a long breath. "Becky wouldn't leave her bike willingly." Seth returned quietly, failure making his gaze bleak.

Dean and Renee returned from their searches as well, shaking their heads. "She'd leave it if she didn't want to be heard," Dean remarked.

"Or if she was taken," Renee added grimly, "but—" That wasn't a thought any of them wanted to consider. "We should check to see if her bike's still in the garage. . . ."

It was. Her phone continued ringing through to the automated message. Charlotte looked through what little remained of Becky's things, but they couldn't find a note anywhere. "I should have insisted on talking to her dad," Roman swore, running his hands through his hair. "Then we'd have his number, at least."

"Becky's smart," Charlotte said, voice firm even though she was starting to cry as she sank down to the couch. "She's smart and she's resourceful and . . . wherever she is, she'll be okay. And she has our schedule for the next few weeks, so she'll be able to find us. . . ."

"Maybe she went for a jog." Bayley had been mumbling random possibilities ever since they stopped searching. "Maybe she went to the park and saw a nice dog and lost track of time. . . ."

They hoped she would show up at that night's event. When she didn't, they apologized to the promoter, claiming she had a family emergency. When it was time to move on, Charlotte took Becky's ring gear with her and Renee rode her bike, and that became their norm for weeks. None of them would admit it, but they all expected to see her each morning, downing the biggest cup of coffee. They answered any call that came in, regardless of the number, hoping it would be her. Eventually they discussed whether they should file a missing persons report, but ultimately agreed that Becky had most likely just moved on.

When they finally did see her again, nearly a month later, it was in the last place they would have expected. The seven of them were all watching RAW halfheartedly, discussing ways they might find Becky, when her old WWE theme, 'Celtic Invasion', filled the room. "Where's my phone?" Bayley yelled, diving for the coffee table. Everyone else did the same—until they realized none of their phones were lighting up. The song was coming from the television instead, and they turned as one to see Becky running down the ramp to save Naomi from a beating at the hands of the Riott Squad. The crowd was cheering so loudly the announcers were drowned out, the raucous thunder eventually coalescing into chants of _Becky! Becky! Becky!_

Their living room had been stunned into silence, seven shocked pairs of eyes riveted as Becky scared off the Riott Squad and helped Naomi to her feet. "It's not . . . it's not her," Bayley said at last, unable to look away as the two women in the ring hugged fiercely. The joyous relief in Naomi's face was impossible to fake. "Her hair . . . it's not right. And. . . ."

Dean slumped back in his chair, almost spilling his beer. "Holy shit, Irish, what did you do?"

Charlotte pressed her shaking hands to her mouth. "Oh shit," she murmured over and over, tears starting to spill over her fingers. "Shit. The information about my dad—this is how she got it. She wasn't getting it from anyone backstage. She . . . she must have made some sort of deal with Hunter, and . . . I've been getting updates this whole time and I didn't even _think_. . . ."

Renee hugged Dean's free arm tightly, watching as Becky and Naomi strode victoriously back up the ramp, arm and arm with matching smiles. "Before, I had a hard time even getting in the arenas as soon as the promoters heard about my podcast. Now I have a press pass and people are asking for me to interview them. No one's been questioning whether you guys can use your WWE names or finishers. None of us pieced it together, Charlotte."

"We should have realized as soon as we didn't find a note." Sasha stood and started pacing, pulling at her hair. "She wouldn’t have been able to leave a note without giving something away. And we spent the whole day with her before she left and none of us suspected a damn thing." She rubbed at her face before letting out a frustrated shriek. "Why didn't we notice anything? It's not like Becky's fucking subtle!"

Seth said nothing, did nothing; he barely moved. His guilt over misleading Becky still sat in his gut like a stone; its edges had just started to be smoothed by their late-night conversations and the kisses that now meant more than any of their hook-ups had. On top of that he had the burden trying to fit in with the group, and now here was Becky, cleaning up the mess he had made.

When Roman shut off the television, it took the others a moment to adjust to the sudden silence. "Blame isn't going to help anyone right now." He held Seth's gaze for a moment before continuing. "Second-guessing if Becky did something we should have noticed won't help either. We know she's alive; that's a start. We know she's . . . okay." He clenched his jaw for a moment as if he'd had to force that last sentence out. "But we also know where she'll be every week now, give or take." He pointed to the now-blank screen. "Hunter had to work to track us. We just need to see where RAW's heading next."


	9. Chapter 9

WWE might have been a big cloud, but that also meant it had a substantial silver lining. Hunter arranged for Becky to get to her apartment the day after she left her friends, and within her first week away she had everything packed up and moved to a condo in a completely different city, the new bike she was promised gleaming in her garage. After disconnecting her old number, she got a new one—as well as a new phone, just to be safe—and called her family, telling them not to worry about any rumours they might hear in the coming weeks and not to give her new contact information to anyone who happened to call. She couldn't remember if she had given her mother's number to Charlotte, so she was trying to cover all her bases.

She also texted Dean— _Don_ , rather—since her promise nagged at her, but she didn't say much. _Hi, Don! It's Ricki from the organic store._ If he could pick an easy alias, so could she: a feminization of her brother's name. _Your favourite granola bars just came back in stock. I'm on holidays for the next couple weeks, so I'll make sure some are put on hold for you._ Dean had replied almost instantly—and frequently: several times a day for the first week—but Becky couldn't bring herself to reply right away. 

As she expected, she didn't get to return to action immediately. There were the standard medical and physical examinations to undergo, and an afternoon of discussions with lawyers regarding the contract. Then, not long after she had finished unpacking and decorating at her new condo, Hunter had called. "Steph and I would like you to stay with us for a few days. We want you to have a few practice matches, just to get back into the swing of things," he explained, "but I don't want to put you at the performance centre. Everyone's signed NDAs, but you know someone's going to snap a picture and then your surprise return will be spoiled. We want to keep everything under wraps as long as we can."

Becky was frankly surprised they had managed it this long. She had done her part, wearing a dark wig out in public and clothes that weren't typically her style, but it was impossible to keep secrets for long in their business. "Sure. I can be—"

"Pack for a week, just to be safe. I'll have my assistant call you with your flight information." And that was that. Hunter's assistant had called a few hours later and the next day, after a first-class flight, Becky was being driven from the airport to Hunter and Stephanie's home. When she arrived, Hunter appeared to be holding back a teenage girl. "See?" he was telling her. "I wasn't lying, Aurora. Now let her—"

"BECKY LYNCH IS STAYING AT OUR HOUSE?" The girl's voice rose to an ear-splitting shriek. "Murphy! Vaughn! BECKY LYNCH IS HERE!"

Hunter did his best to block the doorway while Becky grabbed her bags and headed up the stairs. "Sorry about that. Aurora didn't believe that I had re-signed you, so I thought I'd offer her some proof, and now. . . ." He nodded in the direction of the flailing arms and wild hair behind him. "Yeah, you'll probably get suckered in. Work-outs, practice matches. . . ."

Becky peeked under Hunter's arm, where there were now two young girls pushing at him. "Practice matches, huh?"

"I've been training with Natalya!" one of the girls proclaimed. "I'm going to wrestle as soon as I'm old enough, no matter what Dad says."

"ME TOO! ME TOO!" A younger voice entered the fray, and Becky thought she heard Stephanie in the distance, hollering, "Sorry, babe! I tried! But Attila got in the way—"

"That's that, then." Pretending to roll his eyes, Hunter stepped to the side and motioned to the three young girls clustered behind him. "Becky, meet my daughters: Aurora, Murphy, and Vaughn. Girls, this is—"

"Becky!" Even though she was the oldest, Aurora was the one bouncing up and down. She settled down a bit at a look from her father, and then she squared her shoulders. "It's really cool to meet you, Becky. Can I take your bag?"

Becky glanced over at Hunter before nodding. "Sure. Thanks, Aurora. It's lovely to meet you too. Hi, Murphy. Hi, Vaughn." Then she raised her voice a bit. "Hi, Steph!" She smiled as the three sisters ran up the stairs, squabbling over who got to carry her bag.

Stephanie and a massive Mastiff appeared down a long hallway. "Hi, Becky. Hope you had a good flight. I'm just finishing up a conference call. I'll catch up with you soon."

Then Becky almost thought she was seeing double, because another huge dog appeared down the other hall. This one was accompanied by a man, though, one she recognized. "Cesaro's here too?" she asked Hunter. As long as it wasn't Randy, she didn't care, but it made her wonder how many people knew about her imminent return; Cesaro had been on the plane, but surely he wasn't the only wrestler who knew.

Hunter nodded. "Steph and I will have business to do off and on," he explained, "so I thought if you wanted to head out for a ride, Cesaro could keep you company; he knows his way around the back roads. We have bikes here than you can borrow. How's your new one?"

She felt like asking if Cesaro was meant to be a friend or a chaperon, but she stopped herself. "It's perfect." Becky's new motorcycle wasn't custom—only Authority members got those—but it was still glorious, and in much better running order than the one she had begrudgingly left behind. "Rides like a dream."

"I'm glad. Hey, Cesaro." Hunter didn't have to reach down much at all to pet the huge, lumbering dog. "Hey, Andre. Let's go out by the pool. Maybe the girls will wear off some energy so we can actually have a conversation. . . ."

The week that followed was bustling in a surprisingly pleasing way. Hunter and Stephanie's daughters followed Becky as much as they were allowed, peppering her with questions and conversation and reminding her of the energy that made her love wrestling in the first place. She had mock matches with Aurora, who was quite good for her age, and took advantage of the incredible in-home gym Hunter had designed. Every day included a long, leisurely bike ride, sometimes one on one—those were mostly with Cesaro—but also with Stephanie and Hunter or all three of them. Most of her practice matches were against Cesaro too, to her initial surprise, but she guessed that Hunter wanted her return to be a surprise to as much of the women's roster as possible. For the first time in months, she had her hair extensions properly done, her hair style altered somewhat for her new look. Stephanie showed her dozens of potential designs for her new ring gear, and with the girls' help, Becky settled on two different outfits. "I'll be wearing street clothes for my first appearance," she cautioned Vaughn, who was so happy to contribute she was almost speechless. "So you won't get to see these for a couple weeks."

By the time Sunday rolled around, Becky was still at Hunter and Stephanie's, and the four adults were chatting over late-night drinks. "So, Lynch, you feel ready to come back?" Hunter asked, sitting up a bit when Stephanie curled up beside him.

Becky nodded. "Yeah. I've got a bit of nerves, but. . . ." She paused then, trying to read his face. There had been something different in the way he had asked the question. "What? You mean tomorrow? On RAW?"

Stephanie nodded, her hair catching on Hunter's shoulder. "Yeah. We'll sneak you in. Do you want to reunite with the women first or have your spot first?"

"I . . . I don't know." It was in the contract that Becky would at least start with mid-card status, but she honestly hadn't expected to be back on WWE TV for months. Just like having Cesaro as a travel partner, she considered herself to be in a state of unofficial probation, Stephanie and Hunter making sure she obeyed the rules before they gave her more latitude. "I mean, I don't want to be a distraction to the roster, so . . . maybe after?" She glanced over at Cesaro for advice; having been away from a stable locker room atmosphere for so long put her at a disadvantage. "Or before?"

"I'd honestly love to keep it a secret right up to the reveal if we can," Hunter chimed in. "We're going to have the Riott Squad start beating on Naomi, and you're going to come to the rescue. The crowd will pop so hard when they hear your music, and Naomi will be genuinely thrilled."

Stephanie pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Good point. If we tell Naomi beforehand, she might be way too happy going out to the ring and then the fans will suspect something." Then she looked over at Becky. "I do want to do a formal introduction, though, if you're okay with that. I think you'll be really impressed with how deep the division is becoming."

"Can't wait." As delighted as she was to have her return include Naomi, though, Becky worried herself to sleep and through most of Monday. Hunter had her brought to the arena extra early to avoid being spotted, and she was sequestered away in a tiny office until it was time for her appearance. Even on the way to gorilla position, Hunter had her in disguise, leaving her to shuck oversized clothes off at the last minute, check her own clothes to make sure everything was in place, and then run out on stage the second her music—the song she had only heard as a ring tone for over a year—hit.

Becky thought she could hear a collective gasp, a bubble of silence, for a moment and then everything was roaring. Yelling on either side of her, people jumping to their feet and fumbling for their cameras and phones to get a picture. The three women in the Riott Squad did their best to look legitimately baffled—they had been told they would be interrupted and sent running, but not by whom—but she could see their eyes shining with excitement.

And then there was Naomi. Becky forced herself to dispatch the Riott Squad first, her theme song long since silenced and replaced with alternating chants of _Becky! Becky!_ and _Welcome back!_ When she crouched to check on Naomi, she didn't quite trust herself not to cry. "Long time no see," she said with a wavering grin.

"You're back?" Naomi whispered it at first, repeating it over and over as she stood until it was a shriek. When she was finally to her feet, she hugged Becky so tightly she nearly cracked ribs. "You're back, right? This is real?" 

Becky kept her head tucked down so the camera couldn't pick up what she was saying. "It's real," she assured Naomi. "You're stuck with me for a while."

"Girl, you're stuck with me _forever_." The hug went on so long that someone in the back started playing Naomi's theme, a clear cue for the women to clear the ring. "Come on," Naomi sniffled, finally pulling back. "One pose, and then I am dragging you around backstage and showing you off to every-damn-body." She was bouncing so much her light-up boots made the canvas look like a disco floor.

"Pretty sure they all know I'm back now," Becky murmured, clasping Naomi's hand and raising it high. That didn't stop Naomi from doing exactly as she said, though, practically pulling Becky to the women's locker room and nearly spoiling Stephanie's big introduction. One new addition to the roster broke out into tears, claiming her dream match was against Becky and she thought she would never have the chance. Hugs and warm words came from all sides, but Natalya, one of the women Becky had known the longest, seemed almost wistful when she kissed Becky's cheek.

After Stephanie finally gave up and let the woman chat amongst themselves, Becky grabbed her phone just as Naomi took her free hand, saying they were going to go catch up with Jimmy and Jey. The thought of seeing the twins, who looked so much like their cousin Roman, made her heart twinge a bit, but Becky followed, opening her messaging app with dread. Some happy messages had flooded in—from her family, mostly, but also from some Hunter, Stephanie, and their excited daughters—but the thread from "Don" was a deluge.

_wtf_ : The first text was short and sweet, no doubt sent when he was still stunned.

_WTF?_ He had remembered to capitalize and use punctuation in the second message.

_WHAT THE FUCK LYNCH_. He was back to no punctuation, and was either pissed off or had left his caps lock on. Becky knew it was the former. Checking the time stamps, she saw a big gap between his initial stunned messages and the long, rambling ones that followed; she imagined some sort of group meeting had taken place, helmed by Roman.

_this? this is why you left us? I thought you were fucking off to Ireland or something, not selling your soul to the devil._ Becky suspected autocorrect was responsible for the minimal capitalization. _no. not even selling your soul. you handed it to hunter in a damn gift bag. no. not even THAT._ At least his caps lock still worked. _you gave us the party favours and you're going to be left cleaning up all the puke and piss from their floor. they'll bury you, and you fucking know it!_ The rant was interrupted by every possible angry, evil, or upset emoji Dean's phone had to offer. 

"Becks?" Naomi tugged on her free hand. "You okay? Your phone must be blowing up—"

Becky gave her a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Sorry. Gimme one minute to reply to my brother?"

"Of course." Naomi hugged her again and bounced over to The Usos, hugging Jimmy almost as hard as she had squished Becky out in the ring.

To the soundtrack of Naomi's cheerful chatter and Jimmy and Jey's impromptu welcome-back rap, Becky scrolled through more of Dean's hurt rambles until her guilt clogged her throat. _I did what I thought was best. I'm sorry I put you in this position. It's not fair to you. Hate me if you want, but you guys are all free, and I'm fine. Everybody wins._ Then she shut off her phone so she couldn't be tempted—or torn—by any further replies from Dean before heading over to Naomi. "Hey, lads." Becky forced herself to smile past the growing ache in her heart. "How've you been?" She couldn’t do much about the friends she had left behind, so she would focus on the friends she was hopefully regaining. It was the only way she could make her next few years bearable.


	10. Chapter 10

If they had done something the very next week, used the element of surprise, Dean might not have cracked. But Roman insisted on scouting and planning, and then Ric took a turn for the worse, and after that they got an incredible offer for a weekend-long tournament that paid each of them more than they'd made in the past two months. By the time RAW was appearing at an arena where they knew the layout well and they felt comfortable in the city, almost three months had gone past. Dean's patience had evaporated far sooner.

So he called Becky.

They hadn't texted much since her return to RAW. After his tirade had blown over, he would congratulate her on a great match or killer promo, and she initially replied only with a thumbs-up emoji or simple, unpunctuated _Thanks_. But then she would occasionally text him links to new wrestling opportunities. It was hardly a warm and open line of communication, but it was better than being shut out. Dean wasn't sure if she would believe what he had to say if it was in a text, though, so he called instead.

After the fact, he realized it could have all gone wrong. He hardly ever answered his phone and she could be the same. Even worse, some other WWE employee might have picked up her phone and they might be able to recognize his voice. But it was Becky who answered—a pre-coffee Becky, judging from the thickness of her accent—and her voice was a mixture of irritation and concern. "Dean? Why are you _calling?_ "

The worry in her voice made him wonder for a moment. Could he pull off a quick lie? If he told her Charlotte was hurt or that Roman was sick again, would she come back? Dean dismissed the idea almost immediately. He wasn't going to set Becky up and exploit her feelings, not when she had done more to fix their situation than the rest of them combined. "I can't talk long." He had woken up early to finish his packing just so he could call her, but now the others were almost finished. "But heads up: Roman's planning on us coming to RAW tonight."

Becky was silent for a moment. "What? Why? Is he planning an interven—"

"Gotta go," Dean blurted when there was a knock on his door. He hadn't had a chance to tell Becky any details before he disconnected, but he hoped she'd be able to take care of herself.

Staying quiet about what he knew for so many months had been agonizing, but that specific Monday was so much worse. Watching Renee get on Becky's old bike, noticing the red braided bracelets the remaining Four Horsewomen wore in honour of their absent friend, even watching Seth ramble around like a ghost was getting to him. "Don't worry, man." Roman gave Dean a quick hug before heading for his bike. "We'll find her and we'll talk to her and—"

"And what?" Dean blurted, tossing his helmet from hand to hand. "Have any of us honestly thought that far? We can't kidnap her. Do we really think that rolling up and saying 'Sorry we were shit friends' is going to make her drop everything she's got going for her and come back?" 

They all paused at that, glancing down at their bikes. In the three months she had been back on RAW, she had wrestled every Monday, gained a title shot at the next pay-per-view, and had been instrumental in starting a campaign for a women's mid-card title. That was a lot to give up, especially when the alternative was a week-to-week existence eked out on the road with no assurances. "I don't know," Roman admitted, looking unsure for the first time since they had started planning. "But I know we have to try. We owe her that."

Dean still wasn't convinced and, looking around at his friends, he didn't think all of them were either, but they rode off all the same. Once they had parked within walking distance of the arena, Dean pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text to Becky, hoping she'd read it in time: _If Roman won't back off, tell him I knew. It'll distract everyone and take some heat off you._ Then he followed the others to the back entrance Roman had supposedly arranged access to.

Anyone who had a melee spot in WWE had encountered the storyline security officers—aspiring wrestlers in real life, usually local talent; if you looked back through old footage, you would see that many of the current male superstars had security cameos five or ten years before. They had a certain young, untested look that the squad just inside the staff entrance decidedly lacked. Most of these guards looked like they could be ex-military. Behind them stood Hunter, wearing a smirk as crisp as his suit. "I'll make this really simple for you," Hunter declared. "Leave now, and I won't press any charges, and all the perks Becky arranged for you will still be in effect."

Hearing their suspicions confirmed by Hunter himself didn't help cool anyone's temper. Roman pushed his way through to the front of their group, standing right in front of the two biggest security guards. "You pressured her," Roman accused. "You—"

Hunter just laughed, motioning for the security guards to make a path so he could meet Roman face to face. "I made a general offer. I told her we wanted her back. She set the terms. Don't believe me? Ask her yourselves. But unlike you, she has a match tonight, so don't take too long." Then he took his phone out of his suit pocket. "Hey. Yeah, they finally showed up." Hunter looked at their ragtag little group and smirked again. "Must have taken them a while to find parking, I guess. Can you get Becky to come down so we can get them removed from the premises before anyone gets footage? Thanks." 

The next minute or so was a stand-off of awkward silence and tense posturing until two people appeared at the end of the hallway, walking quickly towards them. The man had his hood up, making it difficult to figure out who he was, but Becky's hair was a dead giveaway. Before he could overthink it, Dean forced his way to the front of the group, standing beside Roman. "You said you had a plan, Irish!" he called out. "As plans go, this one's pretty shitty!"

The undertones of the silence shifted, and when Becky met his gaze, Dean knew she had read his text. Instead of spiking in surprise, her eyebrows dipped in concern. "What are yo—" 

"She . . . said she had a plan?" Roman turned to Dean slowly. "What are you talking about, man?" Behind them, the others murmured their confusion, Renee tugging on Dean's arm.

"You're trespassing, sir. . . ." One of the guards apparently was getting bored with the lack of action and moved forward to confront Roman. "You all need to leave."

When everyone else's focus shifted to the standoff between Roman and the guard, Dean caught Becky's gaze. "Do it," he hissed. "Tell them."

Becky shook her head, but as Seth surged forward to stand at Roman's side and Bayley, Sasha, and Charlotte started to advance, she swore under her breath, shooting Dean a look that was equal parts rage and regret. "Dean knew!" Her voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp and clear, and it carved a path through the tumult that brought everyone to a standstill. 

"Babe?" Renee, the only other one not raring for a fight, tugged on Dean's arm again. "What did you know?"

With his free hand at his hip, visible only to Becky and Cesaro, who had lowered his hood, Dean made a circular _Keep going_ motion as he held Becky's gaze steadily. There was anger there and tears too, and as much as he hated being the source of both of them, he knew that only something drastic was going to bring all of this to a definitive end. Becky had already made her sacrifice; now it was his turn.

"Dean knew." And just like that, it was like Becky was cutting a promo, the tears in her eyes turning sharp like glass, her anger transmuted to arrogance; it was a heel turn on a deeply personal scale. "Dean _more_ than knew." She snorted out a derisive breath. "He walked me out the damn door when I left. Even made sure I had a snack and told me to text him so he would know I arrived safely. Guess you should have extended your tech checks beyond just Seth, huh, Roman?"

"You _knew?_ " Renee's hand fell away from his arm.

Becky might have been able to transform her tears, but Charlotte's were falling freely, her face contorted in a furious snarl as she whirled on Dean. "This whole time . . . You knew she was okay _the whole fucking time_ and you never said a damn word?" Sasha and Bayley shifted their footing as if they were about to launch themselves at Dean instead.

There was one more shot Becky could take, one that would shift some of their vitriol from her to him, and he squared his jaw and gave a slight nod so she knew he was ready. "The whole fucking time," Becky repeated, slow for effect, her voice edged with frost. It wasn't entirely true—he didn't know she was back with WWE until he had seen her on TV, same as the others, though he had known she was alive and okay—but this situation called for a few well-aimed lies. "And then he was kind enough to call me this morning so we knew to expect you."

And there it was. It was like watching Becky's WWE return on a smaller scale, the stunned silence that erupted into chaos, except this was fuelled by fury, not elation. "Becky. . . ." Seth kept shaking his head. "This is all my fault. It's my mess. Let me fix it—"

"There's nothing to fix," Becky said flatly. "Hunter's not pressing charges against you for the vandalism at the Authority garage. All of you can continue to use your WWE names and gimmicks. None of you will be blacklisted anymore." She took a step back and looked over at Hunter. "Are we done?"

"But what about you?" Bayley blurted. She always worried that people took her cheerful persona at face value, assuming she was naive and air-headed, but the core of that image was her innate kindness. "You're . . . you're back here. And you're all alone. . . . "

"Naomi's here. And Nattie and Carmella and the Usos. . . ." Becky rattled off name after name, but Dean noted she never denied being alone. "I've already got a title shot coming up. I'm good."

"Becky, you don't have to do this." Their group had fallen back a bit from Hunter's security team, mostly out of pure shock, but Sasha pushed her way forward. "We can find another way. . . ."

Becky just shrugged. "You find whatever way you want. Sasha. I've found mine."

Cesaro reached for her then, and Dean knew he wasn't the only one who noticed that he didn't grab her shoulder, her arm, or even her wrist; he took her hand, and she not only allowed it, but she squeezed his fingers in reply. That simple gesture rocked the group almost as much as Dean's confession had. "Come on, Becky. Your match is coming up soon. . . ."

Both Becky and Cesaro glanced at Hunter, who motioned for them to go. "Looks like Becky's made her choice, ladies and gentlemen. Now it's time for yours: Are you going to leave peacefully, or are you going to make this difficult? I'll give you a pass tonight for Becky's sake, but if you show up again, I will get the police involved. So are you going to respect what Becky did for you, or are you going to continue to be ungrateful little shits and make a scene?"

Roman looked like he wanted to fight, but Seth grabbed one of his arms and Charlotte the other. "Let's just go," Charlotte said, voice distorted by tears. Glaring at Dean, she added, "We can text her later or—"

"And don't try anything at our hotel either," Hunter interjected, motioning for his security team to give the intruders room to retreat. "I've already warned their security that we've had stalking issues with some of our superstars, and they take client safety and privacy very seriously."

"We're leaving," Renee declared, tugging none too gently on Dean's arm. "Come on, guys. We're only going to hurt Becky if we stay." Then she shoved Dean with her free hand. "And it seems like we have a lot to talk about."

Dean knew he wouldn't have a lot of time with his second phone, so while they were all filing back outside and heading to their bikes, Renee looking in her purse for more tissues for Charlotte, he took one last look at his secret phone before he had to wipe his messages. There was one new text, short and sweet. _Thank you, Dean. I'm sorry._

 _don’t be_ , Dean typed quickly, thankful for autocorrect for the first time in his life. _get that money and piss off hunter for me_. Then, with a mixture of regret and relief, Dean erased the message thread that had connected him and Becky for the past few months and then deleted the app for good measure. Whatever measure of solace Becky had now, she deserved it, and he wasn't going to let the others use his bridge to ruin it for her; he'd burn it down first.


	11. Chapter 11

One of the downsides of travelling by motorcycle was the noise. Even if you wore ear protection, the rumble of the bike crept up through your bones, making it difficult to hear someone who was within arm's reach. Even when Renee had been riding behind him on his bike and not on Becky's abandoned one, Dean could rarely make out what she was saying. 

But curses could also be blessings. For the ride back to their rental, the forced silence was a small reprieve, because Dean knew his friends were itching to tear him apart. He made sure he was the first to stop, first into the house, and when the others finally stomped in, he started yelling, hoping speed and volume would help disguise the fact that his voice was shaking. "I'm only saying this once, so listen!" He yanked his helmet off so quickly he nearly snagged his ear. "None of you get to judge her. _None of you_. Not for leaving, not for signing with them, not for what she said tonight. _None of it._ I told her to tell you guys that I knew. If you want to be pissed at someone, take it out on me. Fine. I don't care. But don't be mad at her." By the end of his tirade, he was bouncing from foot to foot and he forced himself to stop, gripping the back of an armchair to force himself to stay still.

"You let us worry about her for _weeks_. . . ," Charlotte seethed, eyes still gleaming with tears.

Renee was crying too, but she still stepped between her fiancé and the others. "You kept in touch with her by phone, right? Texting? Do you still have that phone?" Anguish twisted her tone, but he could tell she was trying to smooth it out into something less accusatory.

Dean jammed his hands in his pockets. "I'm not helping you guys guilt-trip her," he said flatly. "I erased all the messages and the app I used."

"But you still have the number, right? Her number? And you haven't disconnected yours?" Renee turned to Roman then, her jaw tightening. "You used to give him a rough time about calling me when I was still with WWE, so he had a separate phone. I guess we all owe you a thank you for being a tyrant, huh?"

Roman steeled his jaw too, but said nothing, sinking down onto a chair and looking like he was either about to scream or vomit. The three remaining members of the Four Horsewomen clustered together on the couch, a grieving bundle of clasped hands and angry tears, so Seth stayed standing. "I know I'm probably the last person who has the right to say this, especially right now, but yelling and blaming isn't going to get any of us anywhere. We all fucked up, some more than others. Can we just . . . try talking about it?"

Renee hastily wiped at her face. "I was getting there, Rollins." Then she turned back to her fiancé and took a step closer. "Do you still have your phone?" she asked again. "Is your number still active?"

Dean glanced around at every stricken face before nodding. "For now. After what Becky said, though," he added, "I can't imagine Hunter won't ask to look at her phone, so I doubt hers will be active for long."

"That means there's still a chance." Renee closed the distance between them and hugged him tightly. When she went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, some of her tears spread across his cheek. "We could each send her a little message. No guilt trips, nothing negative," she added quickly when Dean's arms twitched around her. "And since it's Dean's phone, he would get to read the messages before they were sent. . . ."

"Why can't we just call?" Sasha interjected. "Why can't we talk to her rather than sending stupid little text messages that could be from anybody?"

Charlotte's glare was sharp enough to cut bone. "And what if we want to say something that's private?"

Roman opened his mouth but shut it soon after, bowing his head until Renee came over and tapped his shoulder. "We all could have been better. Any one of us could have spoken up." Glancing around at the stricken faces, Renee added, "Blank slate sound good to everyone?"

A chorus of half-hearted agreements filled the room, muted by everyone's sadness. "I was going to suggest we could each call and leave her a quick message. She's . . . she used to be pretty good about checking her messages; she never wanted to miss anything from her dad. We could agree on a time limit," Roman continued, voice bleak, "and some ground rules, like Renee said: no guilt-trips, no pity parties. Just positive stuff and letting her know we miss her."

"Because that's not going to make her feel guilty at all," Dean muttered, flopping down in the armchair and crossing his arms over his chest.

"If you don't want to leave her a message," Sasha snapped, "then don't. _Some_ of us haven't had the luxury of texting her for the past _four fucking months_ , so we have a little more to say." She started to rise, but Bayley grabbed her shoulder and held her back.

Frowning, Renee sat on the arm of Dean's chair. "I see his point. If she gets flooded with 'I love you' and 'I miss you' and all that . . . it could be overwhelming. We don't want to screw things up for her." With a pinched expression, as if every word burned her lips, she added, "She . . . she seemed pretty okay. If she got a good deal, more power to her."

"She's not okay!" Charlotte spat, standing quickly. "How can you even think that? She was just trying to get us to leave so she could keep it together—" She stopped abruptly and stormed out of the living room. A few moments later, the back door slammed shut.

Sighing, Bayley stood up. "I'll go make sure Char doesn't do anything stupid."

"Don't." Sasha reached up and grabbed Bayley's hand, stopping her in her tracks. "If Becky hadn't got that information for Charlotte, Hunter never would have got to her. She would've told him to fuck off and . . . and we'd all be okay." Her tirade lost some steam, and Sasha sank into Bayley's hug as soon as her friend sat back down.

Seth cleared his throat. "I thought we weren't going to toss blame around. . . ."

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we all know why you're in favour of the blank slate approach. . . ."

"Are you all going to stop bitching?" Dean pulled out his secret phone and looked down at it as if he could use it to scry for Becky somehow. "I deleted the messages and the app, but her number's still in the contacts. No copying it. No memorizing it and trying to contact her from your own phones. Hell, she might not even have her phone anymore. I wouldn't put it past Hunter to—"

"Positivity, remember?" Renee leaned down and kissed his cheek as she took the phone from him. "She's under _Ricki_?" There were only three numbers listed, so it was easy to guess.

Dean nodded. "For her brother, I guess. She had me listed as _Don_."

"Let's keep it to two minutes each," Roman suggested. When Sasha started to protest, he added, "I know some providers will let messages go up to five minutes, but we don't know what's she got and like Renee said, we don't want to overwhelm her. Then she'll just delete all the messages and ditch the number, and. . . ." He trailed off bleakly, pulling his hair back into a loose ponytail before shaking it out again. Dean's phone wasn't foolproof, but since they would be blacklisted at any future WWE events, it would be their best chance at contacting Becky. "Let's test the waters first. If . . . if she doesn't want to talk to us, we have to respect that."

Renee stood slowly. "I'll go first. I wasn't on the road with you guys as long, so I'll be more neutral." Phone in hand, she went upstairs for some privacy.

Silence fell again, everyone avoiding everyone else's gaze, until Roman finally stood. "I'll go check on Char and make sure she's okay." As he passed Dean's chair, he gripped his friend's shoulder. "I know we have a lot to talk about, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I know I messed up big time and I want to make things right." Stepping away, he added, "When you talked with Becky—texted, whatever—did she seem . . . okay? Happy? Safe?"

Dean shrugged. "She never complained, if that's what you're asking, so I'm guessing she was safe. I don't know if I'd go as far as _happy_ , but that's a lot to pin on a text, especially when you're trying to be subtle. _Content_ , I guess; she always seemed okay."

Roman nodded slowly. "Guess that's better than a lot of the alternatives." Then he headed towards the back door, closing it far more gently than Charlotte had.

Before anyone else could say anything, Renee returned. "Well, I didn't get a _mailbox is full_ warning, so that's a good sign, right?" She held up the phone and glanced around. "Who's next?"

Bayley squeezed Sasha before getting to her feet. "I'll go. Two minutes, keep it positive." She kept repeating it like a mantra as she headed for the stairs. At least ten minutes had passed before she returned, though. "I didn't know what to say," she admitted as she passed the phone to Sasha. "I mean, I kept it positive and all—at least I think I did. But . . . two minutes isn't really enough, you know?"

Sasha took the phone and headed for the stairs, glaring at Charlotte as she and Roman returned. "She's not wrong," Charlotte said, voice dull as she cut off Bayley's defence. "It started because of me and my dad. If Dad wasn't sick, Hunter wouldn't have had anything to bargain with. And with what's going on with Becky's dad . . . she knows what it feels like to be far away and not be able to do anything." Tears spilled down her cheeks again, trailing black rivers of mascara. "She couldn't fix her situation, so she did her best to help me with mine." She sank down beside Bayley and hugged her. "I'm sorry."

"Blank slate, remember?" Bayley rubbed Charlotte's back as she cried in near silence. "The best thing we can do—what Becky would want us to do most of all—is to be better."

As if each of them were saving their words up for their messages to Becky, conversation ground to a halt: questions got the shortest answers possible, and replies were often one word at the most. When Sasha returned, Charlotte started to stand, but Sasha strode right past her and, looking Charlotte dead in the eye, handed the phone to Roman before heading to the back door. A few moments later, the tell-tale snarl of her bike cut through the silence and they saw her drive away. "She won't go far," Roman said with a sigh. "She just needs some space. If she's not back in half an hour, we can call her and see if she picks up." Then he motioned around with the phone. "Dean, you want to go next? It's your phone after all."

Dean shook his head. "I'll wait. I don't know what to say yet." After she returned from her call, Renee had sat on his lap and barely budged since, face pressed to his neck. "Char?"

Charlotte shook her head and stood. "I can't be crying when I'm leaving her a message. I need to go get myself together first." She grabbed a few tissues from the box on the coffee table and headed for the main bathroom.

Seth shook his head when Roman offered the phone to him. "I'll go last. We should make sure there's enough room for all of your messages first," he said simply, sitting in the spot Charlotte had vacated. Then he reached for the remote control. "Anyone mind? Otherwise this silence is going to get real awkward real fast. . . ."

"Go for it." Roman headed for the stairs. "Just not wrestling."

Roman took even longer than Bayley had; by the time he returned, Charlotte had stopped crying and cleaned up, her face now bare and stark. "I'd like to go next, please," she said, keeping her voice level. "Before I start crying again." Dean and Seth both nodded their agreement as they glanced away from a hockey game.

Charlotte took the longest of all of them, to no one's surprise. Sasha had just returned from her ride and the two women glared at each other before Sasha went to her room and stayed there for the rest of the night. Seth didn't make a move for the phone, so Dean gave Renee a gentle nudge. "That's me." He thought about offering the phone to Seth, but the newcomer didn't look any more coherent than Dean felt. "I'll be quick," he added, gesturing to the darkening sky outside the main window. The longer it took them, the more likely Becky was to start noticing the deluge of messages and if she was overwhelmed, she might just delete them en masse without listening to a single one. Renee gave him a quick kiss before he went to their room for some privacy, and for a while, Dean struggled with what to say. In some ways, Sasha wasn't wrong: since he'd been in touch with Becky over the past few months—not reliably, and not with any real depth, but it was better than nothing—he didn't have the same sense of impassioned urgency that was driving the others.

In the end, he kept it light and, he hoped, a bit funny. _Hey, Irish. Fancy running into you at a WWE event, huh? Glad to see you're looking good. Hope everything's going as well as it can be, all things considered. Sorry to spring that—and all these messages—on you. If you want us to fuck off, just let me know. I'm still the phone master, so I'll get the message before they do. Hope Naomi and the rest of the girls are glad to have you back; they should be, anyway. Lucky ducks. Lucky us, too, since you put yourself on the line. But don't worry about us, okay? Concentrate on yourself now and get as much money from the McMahons as you can and any chance you get, kick Randy in the balls. It's better than therapy, let me tell you. Well, I don't want to get sappy, so . . . hang in there, keep kicking ass, and take care. Love you, Irish._ Then he disconnected, sandwiching the phone between his hands as if he was praying, and hoped like hell he hadn't done the wrong thing yet again.


	12. Chapter 12

The words had felt like barbs and tasted like bile, but she said them anyway. Cesaro's hand had felt like a burning brand, but she had taken it anyway. It seemed to take forever to get back to the end of the corridor and around the corner, and the instant she was out of sight, Becky braced her back against the wall and slid down to the floor, pressing her face to her knees. The past few months had been hard without her friends, but seeing them again—and having to shut them out, send them away—was unfathomably worse.

"Becky? Are you okay? What can I do?" Cesaro crouched down beside her, keeping a respectful distance as he watched her.

Becky held a hand to her chest as if it would calm down her heart. "I need to get out of here."

"Your match is next. It's supposed to be quick. Once you're done, we'll go find Hunter and—" Cesaro rose suddenly. "Natalya, can you come here, please?"

"Sure." Becky heard quick footfalls before someone else knelt beside her. "Becks, what is it?" Natalya gently cradled Becky's face and tilted it up so she could see her. "Are you okay? If you're sick, we can go tell Creative and see if there's something else. . . ."

But Becky shook her head. Wrestling was always good for clearing her mind and corralling her thoughts, and there were few people she trusted in the ring more than Natalya. "Just got a message about my dad," she fibbed. She wouldn't be able to claim an injury, so at least this way if she burst into tears, the rest of the roster would understand. "I'm good. I want to wrestle. You just might have to give me some prompts if I zone out, that's all."

Natalya gave her a warm smile and helped her to her feet. "I got you, girl." Once Becky was standing, the two women hugged. "Come on. Let's get to Gorilla and get you out of here."

Cesaro nodded as they headed to the staging area. "I'll go talk to Hunter."

The match was so blurry Becky was surprised she wasn't booed out of the arena, but Natalya was a deft guide, nudging her when necessary and improvising well when Becky was out of step. If the crowd noticed, they didn't seem to mind; at one point there was even a _This! Is! Awesome!_ chant. Once the final bell had rung and Becky was declared the winner, she staggered back up the ramp and headed straight for Hunter's office. At the start of the night, she had been bummed to learn she didn't have any promos to cut—talking was one of her favourite things about the business—but now she was grateful. Even when she just opened her mouth to breathe, she felt like she was about to either sob or vomit. She pushed open the office door just seconds after she knocked, and she didn't even have the wherewithal to freeze when she saw Randy sitting beside Cesaro in front of Hunter's desk. "I need to leave," she rasped.

Hunter nodded as he stood. "I know that must have been rough. You're good for the night, Lynch. Cesaro will go back to the hotel with you."

Becky's head started to pound with the pressure of unshed tears and muted agony. "I can go on my own. I can handle my bike, and I know the way—"

"I'm sure you can. And now _I_ know that you've been communicating with Dean as recently as today." Hunter let out a long breath. "So you'll understand why I'd feel better if you didn't just rush off on your own."

The implication made Becky lean back against the door as she forced herself to calm down. "So he's a chaperon, then. There's the lock on the door of the golden cage, huh?" She rubbed at her face and tried to think of something to say that wasn't snarky or whiny. "My contract doesn't say anything about who I can contact. It's not like Dean and I talked every day. Not even every week. It's brief and I never tell him anything important. I can go get my phone and show you—"

"I'm fine with you going back to the hotel," Hunter said, continuing on as if Becky hadn't even spoken. "But someone will be going with you. Your options are Orton or Cesaro. I figured you would prefer Cesaro, but if you want to keep pushing. . . ."

Becky glanced over at Cesaro, trying to gauge his reaction. Even if he had essentially been Hunter's assigned guard for her, he had always been kind, giving her as much space and privacy as he could allow; she hoped he didn't misinterpret how she had held his hand, and from the looks of things, he didn't seem to. "I was only scheduled for an interview," he replied, "and nothing major. Hunter said he would bump it to next week, so if you want to leave. . . ."

"Please. If you don't mind." Becky moved away from the door and wiped at her face, surprised she wasn't crying yet. Her gaze fell briefly on Randy and she expected to see his regular arrogance or some sort of disdain, but there was a strange hint of respect in his eyes. It wasn't anything she wanted to think about at the moment, so she opened the door and turned to Hunter. "Thank you."

Hunter nodded. "We'll talk tomorrow over breakfast." There was nothing threatening about his tone, but it was clear that it wasn't an invitation or even a suggestion.

Cesaro easily matched her pace to the women's locker room, where he paused. "I just need to change and grab my things." He still hesitated, though, as if worried that Becky was going to disappear on him.

_Great. I just can't stop getting my friends in trouble,_ Becky thought as she opened the locker room door. "I promise I won't leave without you. I'll wait out here for you if I'm done first. And . . . for what it's worth, thank you. I know I haven't been the easiest assignment."

"You're not an assignment, Becky." Then Cesaro held up his hands as a show of innocence. "And I know what happened back there meant nothing. I hope you'll consider me a friend someday, but I'm not pushing for anything more."

"Thanks." Becky ducked inside the locker room and got ready as quick as she could, not even checking her phone before tucking it in her bag. The ride to the hotel was going to leave her hair a mess, so she didn't bother fussing with it either. As she expected, Cesaro was already waiting for her when she stepped out. "I don't suppose we could stop for a coffee on the way?" Between the shock of seeing her friends and trying to regroup, she hadn't had her regular backstage snack.

Cesaro grinned. "One of the ways back to the hotel just so happens to have a well-regarded Italian café. I told Hunter I'd go with you," he added with a wink. "He didn't say anything about us taking a direct route."

After they secured their saddlebags, they drove off into the darkening night, and Becky tried to focus on the sensations of riding rather than her emotions: the wind in her face, the city lights dancing along her chrome handlebars, the intoxicating scents of late-night fast food from a dozen different cultures as they cut through downtown to the local Little Italy sector. Naturally, Cesaro's order was in flawless Italian, and he helped her navigate the largely untranslated menu. They stayed for almost an hour, chatting amiably about Europe and travel and favourite foods, and by the time they got to the hotel—Becky's suite conveniently tucked between Hunter's and Cesaro's, as usual—she was no longer feeling quite so bleak. "Thank you for the coffee," she said as they parted ways in the hall, hoping that Hunter hadn't ordered him to stay in the corridor to make sure she remained on the premises. "And the quick departure."

"My pleasure. It was better than most of the matches anyway. Get some rest." Cesaro stopped just short of his door. "You should talk with someone, Becky. I'm not saying it should be me," he added quickly. "Maybe you would prefer one of the girls, or one of the Usos. I don't know. But you need a confidante. You need friends. If you treat this like doing penance, it will be hell for you. You're here now, and you will be for a while; you might as well make the most of it, right?"

"I know." Becky went into her suite before her mood could dim again. The women on the roster had welcomed her back warmly and invited her on countless outings: nights at clubs, weekends at each other's houses, shopping trips. She had friends among the men's roster too; as far as she knew, the Usos hadn't passed anything about her along to Roman. But after the intense closeness she had shared, for better or worse, with The Shield and the Four Horsewomen, she wasn't sure these friendships would be enough. There was something to be said for having more support and less success, because what good was more success if you had no one to share it with?

After treating herself to a long hot shower, Becky changed into the old, oversized band shirt she wore to bed and grabbed her phone to check messages. After the confrontation with Dean and the others, she was almost afraid to, and the rapidly blinking indicator light gave her good cause to be. It wasn't until she opened her texting app that she remembered she had her voicemail set to send messages to text; given her family's range of Irish accents, it made for some interesting transcriptions, to say the least.

_VOICEMAIL TO TEXT CONVERSION_ , the message began, followed by the standard disclaimer about not being responsible for any discrepancies. She glanced over the legalese and sat down hard on the bed once she got to the actual message. _Hey, Irish. Fancy running into you at a WWE event, huh? Glad to see you're looking good. Hope everything's going as well as it can be, all things considered. Sorry to spring that—and all these messages—on you. If you want us to fuck off, just let me know. I'm still the phone master, so I'll get the message before they do. Hope Naomi and the rest of the girls are glad to have you back; they should be, anyway. Lucky ducks. Lucky us, too, since you put yourself on the line. But don't worry about us, okay? Concentrate on yourself now and get as much money from the McMahons as you can and any chance you get, kick Randy in the balls. It's better than therapy, let me tell you. Well, I don't want to get sappy, so . . . hang in there, keep kicking ass, and take care. Love you, Irish._

_All these messages?_ Her heart started racing again as she backed out of that message and checked the main list. There was an unread message from Hunter, two from Stephanie, three from Aurora, then some from Natalya and Naomi. Under 'Don', it listed five, not including Dean's opened message. "Oh _god_." Becky's gut sank steadily and she pressed her free hand to her mouth. Before she could stop herself, she closed the texting app completely, opened the phone one, and called Dean's second number. "Dean . . . stop," she blurted when the call was answered. "You guys have to stop. Please. I can't . . . I can't handle those messages right now. I'm sorry, but I can't. . . ."

"This isn't Dean." It was a male voice, though, which narrowed it down considerably, and it was one Becky had known intimately. 

"Seth?" His name squeaked out of her mouth and then everything seemed to collapse: her face crumpled as she started to cry, she curled up into a little ball, and her heart felt like someone's fist had closed around it. "What are you. . . ." There wasn't enough air in the world for all the things she wanted to say—to him, to Dean, to all of them.

"We all took turns leaving a message." His voice was low and soft, like he was afraid of being overheard, and Becky pictured him in spot much like hers: seeking refuge in his room, almost ready to sleep but unable to. "I let everyone else go first because I didn't know what to say. I still don't."

"I'm sorry," Becky blurted out. "I'm so, so sorry—"

"Okay. Apologies are a good place to start. I'm sorry." There wasn't a hint of teasing in Seth's voice, which made it all the harder to hear. "I'm sorry for being the reason all of this started in the first place. I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you from the start—"

"That's not what I meant!" Becky took a large, gulping breath and wished she had brought another coffee back with her.

"I know," Seth answered gently. "But I wanted you to know I understand. Out of everyone here, I have the closest idea of what you're going through."

Becky rubbed her face against her pillow to dry some of her tears. "Where are the others?" 

"Roman's talking with his daughter. Bayley's playing referee between Charlotte and Sasha while they hash things out. Dean and Renee are. . . ." Seth left the last purposefully vague. "I thought it would be a good time to try and figure out what I wanted to say."

"Oh god." Becky thought back to the message count and shut her eyes. "I can't listen to all of those. Not tonight." It had nothing to do with time and everything to do with the fragile threads of calm that were keeping her together.

"Then don't. They'll still be there tomorrow." Then Seth paused. "I . . . I can go, if you want. I know you were expecting to talk to Dean, and ordinarily I'd go get him for you, but—"

Becky's laugh was more of an awkward gulp. "No. No, leave him be. Just . . . please don't be mad at him. Anything he did, he did it because I asked him to. None of it is his fault." She got up, turned off the room lights, and then curled up on her side and faced the window. The curtains were partly open but the sheer lining was closed, making the skyline beyond the window look gauzy and surreal. 

"What are the terms in your contract?" Seth's voice didn't turn accusatory or brittle; it stayed resolutely level, so even it helped Becky guide her breathing.

"I thought you were going to ask what I was wearing," Becky confided with a laugh as she tugged the blankets up over herself.

"Well, I mean, that's the more interesting question. . . ." Seth's chuckle was like a purr. "But the contract one is probably more important."

"Three years, with one-year probationary status." She could take refuge in the technical terms, use their dry, impersonal nature to get her emotions in check. "If I quit, leave, get fired, whatever, I'm under a one-year no-compete clause." That had been tough to agree to. The standard ninety days was hard enough for most wrestlers: three months in the current media landscape could kill any momentum you had. A full year might not be survivable, even if you did your best to stay in the public eye through social media. 

Seth cleared his throat. "I was thinking more along the lines of no-contact clauses," he said. "Did Hunter include one?"

Becky felt her shoulders hunch in, her lungs lurch; this had all been so much easier to deal with in isolation. "No. It was sort of . . . implied, though. It's why I always kept things short with Dean. I mean, if something happened to one of you guys. . . ." She reached over to the nightstand and tapped on it out of habit. "If one of you was in the hospital or . . . or worse, Hunter knows I would go no matter what. But it would be with the understanding that I would come back."

"Well, if it's not in the contract," Seth reasoned, "then it's open to interpretation, right?"

Thinking back to the time stamps she had quickly glimpsed on her messages, Becky did some rough math and figured that if they had been sending their messages from their rental, they had to be within city limits. "Before, you told me to ask you to come with—"

"No." The interjection was soft and sympathetic, but an interruption all the same. "Trust me, Becky, if I thought showing up at your hotel would work out well for either of us, I'd already be there. But you're already on shaky ground with Hunter and everyone at this end is on edge." Then he chuckled, voice lowering enough that it gave Becky chills. "Believe me, I already considered it."

"I know. I just. . . ." Seeing her friends again had shaken her resolve to its core, and she hadn't even finished six months of her contract; how was she going to deal with more than two full years? She hadn't really thought Seth would be able to sneak into the hotel for some quick sex—because she definitely wouldn’t pass that up twice—but her brain was spinning madly, trying to find any escape hatch no matter how ridiculous. _I could break the contract,_ she thought wildly. _I've gone without wrestling for a year before. I could do it again._ Even as the idea flitted through her mind, though, she knew it was a lie. Giving up wrestling once had broken her heart, and that was when she had a legitimate injury; casting it aside when she was almost in her prime would be unbearable.

"But we can talk. As long as you want. Or until someone here figures out that I'm actually talking on the phone and they try to take it from me." There was a spark of hope in Seth's voice that kindled her own. She couldn't ask her friends to follow her across the country, not when they were still trying to eke out a living in the smaller promotions. But their paths would inevitably cross at times, and maybe by then, Hunter's leash wouldn't be quite so tight. Maybe she and Cesaro would be friends and he wouldn't mind conveniently being busy for a few hours while she reconnected with them. It was a lot of _maybe_ s, but _maybe_ s went further than flat out _no_ s.

"I'd like that." It made Becky feel small and silly, like a schoolgirl talking to her crush and hoping her parents weren't eavesdropping through the door, but it was better than feeling alone and desolate any day.

"Have you seen the garage yet? Did they ever get all the paint off? I left a few little surprises around the tool chests that I always wondered if they found. . . ." Seth upheld the conversation for the first while, filling Becky in on how her friends were doing, both the good and the bad, and where they'd been in the past few months. Then he asked about friends he had left behind in WWE, and she had answered as best she could.

When her eyes became harder and harder to keep open, Becky sighed. Talking with Seth had been like a lifeline, all the worse because it was a temporary rescue at best. She would be adrift again tomorrow, and the next day and the one after that. But now maybe there was something to look forward to on the horizon. _Stop with the 'maybes'_ , she told herself. "I should go," she said softly. "The event's over, so everyone will be heading back to the hotel. Hunter might want to talk. . . ."

"That's something I definitely don't miss." Then Seth paused, suddenly speechless for the first time in over an hour. "I miss you. I know I shouldn’t say that and I don't really have the right to say it, but—"

"I miss you too." How stupid was she that she had to leave her whole life behind to realize that Seth's manipulation was something she could get past, given time?

"I'm glad. Not . . . that you're gone or lonely or—" Seth gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "You know what I mean, right?"

"Yeah. Um . . . will you pass a message along to the others for me?" Becky asked. Her room was dark enough now that she had to dim the brightness on her phone so it didn't hurt her eyes.

"You could leave them a message," Seth suggested. "A group message, so it's not too hard on you. I'm sure they'd all love to hear your voice, Irish."

"I . . . I know, but I can't. Not right now." Becky took a deep breath. "I was going to say I could try calling in a couple days. Wednesdays aren't usually too bad, since Hunter's always focussed on NXT. Do you guys have a show then?"

"No. That's a travel day for us." Seth chuckled again. "But if they find out I talked to you, they'll be mad that I didn't call any of them to the phone. Why don't you text it instead and I'll make sure everyone sees it?" 

"That's probably better." Becky wiped at her face. "I don't want to say goodbye."

"Then say _Talk to you soon_." Seth's voice sounded as strained as she felt. "Wednesday. It's a date."

Becky's laugh sounded more like a sob, but neither of them commented on it. "Okay. Wednesday. Talk to you then." She pressed the disconnect button before she could let herself linger. With the promise of sleep beckoning, she typed out her message quickly so she could snuggle into her pillow; if Hunter wanted to talk—and she had no doubts that he would—he could wait until breakfast, like he'd decreed. _Hey, guys. I'm not up to going through all of your messages tonight, but I promise I'll listen to them tomorrow. I'm going to try calling on Wednesday, so watch for this number. I'm really sorry about tonight, but I'll do my best to explain. Love you all._


End file.
